Blood is Relative
by wixley-kryptonese
Summary: Son of Neptune, spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

As the Hogwarts Express left Hogsmeade Station, Harry had an epiphany. Quickly, ignoring his friends for the moment, he got out a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkpot, using his trunk as a table as he wrote a carefully-phrased letter. When he finished, he used his wand to dry it, knowing from last year there would only be six more hours before he wouldn't be allowed to use it. Then, folding it haphazardly, he let Hedwig out of her cage and whispered, "Bring this to Aunt Petunia." When his snowy owl left, he sat back with a satisfied grin and started planning – and refusing to tell Ron or Hermione what he'd written to his so-called 'relatives'.

* * *

Upon arriving at Kings Cross, Harry said goodbye to his friends and sped far past Hermione and her parents so he could start walking towards Charing Cross

He had a plan. Basically, he was going to buy a tent and live in it for two weeks in the Dursleys' backyard. That would hopefully be enough time that anyone who was watching him would get the idea that he was staying at Privet Drive. Not that anyone was watching him…maybe. Harry had no clue, maybe it was just paranoia. Though Dumbledore did seem to have an awfully comprehensive knowledge of his life, despite everything…

Anyway – after two weeks in a tent, he would start travelling around the country. He knew how to get bus and train tickets, and getting an aeroplane ticket couldn't be _that_ different if he really needed one. There might even be an easier, magical way to travel, like the Knight Bus, though he didn't want to take that bus _ever_ again if he could help it. Harry might only be twelve, but who cared? He would be thirteen soon, anyway. Of course, he'd need money, which was why he was going to Gringotts – hopefully he could get some converted into pound coins.

The walk wasn't very long, but it was difficult. There were a lot of people in London, and commuters didn't pay mind to his bulky trunk. When they bumped into it, they were more likely to shout at him, or even ignore him rather than help him right it, if the thing had fallen sideways. _I'll have to get a proper suitcase, or a backpack, or something_ , he mentally noted tiredly.

Guiltily, he dumped Hedwig's cage in a skip as soon as he could. He got odd looks for it while walking, but he knew in the skip it wouldn't be looked twice at. People had more unusual things than bird cages. It wasn't as if Hedwig used it other than during the holidays anyway, and even then, they both preferred it when she wasn't locked inside. He'd probably end up asking her to go to Hermione's while he travelled, and her water-bowl could be easily substituted when she was with him. Really, the only problem with getting rid of it was having no handy tray to collect bird droppings.

Once he made it to Charing Cross, he went into the Leaky, going up to the bar. Tom, upon seeing him, gave him an odd smile.

"Mr Potter, what brings you here?"

Harry gave an awkward look, "Uh, just a stop in. Is Gringotts open at this time?"

Tom gave a slight laugh, "Gringotts is always open, Mr Potter – why, it's even busier at night most days! Goblins are nocturnal by nature. It's only because our business hours are in daytime that they have people at desks."

Harry nodded politely, "Thanks. Oh, and, uh…would you know where to get a tent?"

Tom put down the glass he was wiping, "Magic or muggle?"

Harry's brow furrowed, "There's a difference?" As Tom laughed to himself, snickering, Harry felt with annoyance towards himself, that there must have been a big one. "Where could I buy them?"

Tom wiped his eyes, "Second shop on the right, just as you enter the Alley, Mr Potter. Where you would have gotten your school trunk in your first year."

Harry pursed his lips, before nodding again. "Thank-you." Adjusting his trunk, he went to go towards the entrance to the alley, when Tom called out.

"Would you like me to hold onto your trunk while you go, Mr Potter? You won't have to lug it round with you, then."

Harry hesitated, fringe catching on his glasses. Answering as he brushed it away, "Would that be okay?" he turned to the man again. Tom just gave him a kind smile before waving his wand, levitating it up and over the bar, pushing it to the side. "Thanks. Again."

"It's no problem, Mr Potter."

Before it could get awkward, Harry scarpered, quickly entering Diagon Alley, fingering his wand as he pushed it up his sleeve. He'd not bothered to change out of anything other than his robe, tie and piped school jumper, wanting to wear something that wasn't Dudley's hand-me-downs. _Maybe I can fix that properly_ , he thought to himself as he looked around the alley properly. It was weird – he'd never actually had a chance to look around before. Hagrid had directed him around for his first year, and then in his second year, it had been Mrs Weasley. As he walked the street, heading towards Gringotts, he noted the names of most of the shops, taking in the most obvious produce from each, and if he couldn't, guessed as to what they might advertise.

Unfortunately, it was only once in front of a goblin asking him for his key did he realise it was still in his trunk. As the goblin waited boredly, Harry searched his pockets, hoping that maybe he'd actually had some foresight and forgotten – but it was not to be.

"Uh…" he hesitated, _stupid Harry!_ "Is there any way I could get into my vault without having a key? Like, identity verification, or something?"

The goblin narrowed his eyes, "Yes, there is, but it would require payment afterwards. If payment is not supplied, Gringotts would extract items of value that match up to the cost of payment. If that is not supplied, as a minor you would be required to work off what money is owed."

"What if I were an adult?" Harry questioned, not worried about it – very much, at least. He was a Potter, and it was _his_ vault. Nothing could go wrong.

The goblin smirked, "We would kill you." He blanched on automatic, before shakily nodding his head.

"I don't want to waste your time, so yeah, I'll do whatever is deemed necessary to get money from my vault."

The goblin snapped his fingers, calling another goblin over. Harry stepped forward as it opened a door, motioning him through.

"Follow me, please." It ordered, before leading him down a short corridor into a dark room. He squinted, before realising they were in both a cave and an office. The goblin sat down at a desk. "Sit, please." Harry did so, waiting for the goblin. They were silent for a while, as the goblin signed different pieces of parchment, before handing it to him. He skimmed through it, noting that it was a contract basically saying that Gringotts couldn't be held accountable for any inaccuracies that came to light, and demanded to be paid the total sum of sixty galleons for the whole process, plus interest the longer it was put off.

"Do I sign somewhere?"

The goblin held out a quill, "Back page, bottom right-hand corner." Harry took it, knowing there would be no problem whatsoever, and signed his name – Harry James Potter. "Hand, please." He looked up, immediately jumping at seeing the wavy silver knife in the goblin's hand.

"What the hell?!"

The goblin didn't react to his exclamation. "For identity verification, blood is required." Harry swallowed, eyeing the knife before pulling himself together. _It's just a little blood. He'll probably only cut my finger_ , he assured himself, before holding out his hand.

The goblin immediately lowered the knife to his palm and sliced.

He let out a yelp, clenching his hand as blood dripped down onto a piece of parchment, bringing his hand to his chest. Once more the goblin ignored him, eyes focused on the parchment. Harry glanced at his fist – burning like hell and covered in dark, thick, red blood – before looking to it, not knowing what it was. But then the spilled blood sank into the parchment, an unfamiliar name appearing in blue ink, black, ivy-like lines leading up to _Lily Antheia Evans_ , who was followed by _Rosa Margaret Minty_ in red, who was then followed by _Poesy Millicent Pomfrey_ in purple.

"Pomfrey?" Harry blinked in surprise, "Like Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts?" At his words, Poesy's name shimmered, before a black ivy went sideways, _Poppy Ailsa Pomfrey_ in blue writing itself out.

The goblin grunted as, slowly – much, much more slowly than with his mother's, grand-mother's and great-grandmother's names appeared – the ivy started swirling up to make his father's name.

"Poesy Pomfrey is Poppy Pomfrey's squib half-sister. Madam Poppy Pomfrey herself can be notified of your relations, and if you cannot access any vaults that you have had access to previously, fees will be lifted from her, upon her grace." _Goblins can read upside down?_

Harry went to reply, but his father's name caught his attention.

 _My father's name does not start with an 'N'._

He leant forward as it started to spell the name out. It was agonising, watching as it was laid out before his eyes. He didn't even care to look at his grandfather's name, or his great-grandfather as the shining green _Neptune_ stared up at him from the yellowing parchment, in glaring opposition to the blue of his mother's.

"No, it can't be, James Potter…" his throat closed up, and he felt a hollowness in his gut. "This has to be wrong," he choked out as the goblin tapped the name with a dirty nail. Beside the name, words in a foreign language appeared that made the goblin become still. Harry, trying to find distraction, on glancing saw them as Latin and looked at them properly, immediately becoming confused as they bent out of shape. He took off his glasses to rub them of what dirt had obviously got on them, before freezing as the Latin became perfectly clear to him, his brain interpreting them enough that…that he somehow understood it. The English beside them bent as the words had just before.

He put his glasses on. The Latin became bendy. The English became clear. He took his glasses off. The Latin became clear. The English became bendy.

Frowning, Harry kept his glasses off, looking more closely at the symbols. _Nep…Neptune, King of Atlantis, God of the Sea, Water, Earth- Earthquakes, Hurricanes, Storms and…Horses_ , he slowly realised what he was reading. _This…this is my father? He's a God?_ Harry looked up at the goblin, who was still unmoving.

"The Gods are real?" The goblin didn't answer, and Harry, nervous, was too scared to touch him. Instead, he just sat back down, glancing at the parchment from afar. That was when he realised something. _The name at the start was where my name was supposed to be…_ he leant forward sharply again, prompting the goblin to lean back as he traced the letters, putting his glasses back on. _Henry Iakobus Evans._ He swallowed. _Harry's a nickname for Henry…I suppose that could just be a mix-up. Everyone got so used to using it that they forgot…_ He had no idea about Iakobus though.

 _Evans…_ Harry flinched. _I'm not a Potter_.

"Your Highness," the goblin spoke suddenly, knocking the boy out of his thoughts. "As bastard son of King Neptune, you have limited access to the Royal Trust Vault, and upon your majority, you are given a retainer vault in your own name, but under command of King Neptune. As an act of goodwill towards His Majesty and Your Highness, Gringotts will waive the fee for your identification process."

Harry stared at the goblin.

"What?"

* * *

It was a tiring evening for Harry James Potter. He refused to go by the name Henry Iakobus Evans, and managed to find a way with the goblins to be legally 'nicknamed'. He'd have to fill out the form again on his seventeenth birthday, but that was years away, and as long as he didn't sign anything under his 'real' name, then the document wouldn't be rendered invalid.

He _did_ manage to get his tent though, and some money converted. Unfortunately it was a bit too late by that time to go on a serious shopping trip, and while it wasn't anything he really wanted to do, Harry had to take the night bus home or be confronted by a steaming Uncle Vernon at midnight for being five hours late in getting back to Little Whinging. As it was, he was still shouted at for getting back at nine in the evening, before being directed to a cleared area of dirt under the single, neglected apple tree in their backyard. He pitched his tent and went inside without much more fuss, being joined by Hedwig a few minutes after before she left for her dinner.

The reminder had Harry's stomach growling, but he ignored it as he tied the tent flap shut and stripped, before falling flat onto the soft double bed of his tent. The next morning after cooking breakfast in an attempt to butter her up to the idea, he informed Petunia he would like to have permission to go back and forth between London and Surrey. In reply, he was told to tend the garden and repaint the house, fence and shed that summer, and forbidden from coming inside for anything other than for the bathroom. Harry didn't bother mentioning his tent had a built-in bathroom, and simply used the morning to paint the shed with left-over paint from the summer before his first-year before leaving.

He didn't go straight to Diagon Alley though. First he went to shops in Muggle London for new clothes, but after seeing various amusements, made a quick-second decision to explore the city and just do the occasional shop. It wasn't as if he actually _wanted_ to be carrying half a dozen bags all day. As it was though, he did get to Diagon Alley, and spent the late afternoon strolling around, buying whatever he liked – which included enough groceries, as it turned out, to last a few days.

When he finally went home to Privet Drive, he packed all his purchases away around his tent, knowing that leaving them would be fine. The shop-owner had said when he bought it that everything within the tent was unable to be harmed, damaged, broken, or warped. After Harry had asked what would happen to the items when it was rolled up, the shop-owner told him a story from her youth about how she smuggled his squib brother to Hogwarts by putting him in a wizarding tent, rolling it up and putting it in her trunk to be opened in her dorm. Her brother was in Hogwarts over fifteen hours before Professor Flitwick realised he didn't have a timetable to give him, perfectly fine after getting out of the tent.

The next day was similar from the last, but he spent it all in Magical London, using his invisibility cloak to traverse Knockturn Alley, Vertic Alley and Musik Alley. It was amazing to find more than just Diagon and Knockturn existed, and by the time he, once again, went home to Privet Drive, his fingers were aching from all the shopping bags he was carrying. The routine of either going out to muggle or magical London continued for two and a half weeks – by which time, Harry had been to most of the amusements in Muggle London, and had bought items from half the shops he'd come across settled around or in Diagon Alley.

He realised, quite suddenly after the end of the third week, that he'd forgotten to leave to go on Holiday – but then it occurred to him that actually, he didn't really need to go on holiday. He'd had enough fun just in a single city in all this time, and he'd gained a little sense too, while touring London – even older teenagers got questioned on their activities by the police when wandering about alone. There was _no_ way he'd get away going on a holiday by himself…at least for now.

Writing a short note back to Ron's request he came over for the rest of the break, as they had renovated their house with some lottery money and he wanted to show him everything – _Ask your mum if it's okay if I come over using the Knight Bus tomorrow (Tuesday)_ – and sending it off with Hedwig, he went over to his trunk to start packing. It was only after emptying it that he realised he hadn't read most of the books in here – and they were from both his second and first year. A frown flitted across his face at the realisation and put all the books off to one side, giving them occasional glances as a slowly-building feeling of guilt grew in his stomach. _What if I could have done better if I read the books?_ He asked himself time and time again as he thought to his poor 58% average from this past year. _I could have done a lot better_.

But he kept with the clearing of his trunk, moving everything onto the floor surrounding him. _I'll put the books to one side instead of just throwing them in,_ he thought, before tipping the dregs from his trunk – broken quill nibs, scraps of parchment, dried up potions ingredients – _so then I can just pick them out instead of mucking everything else up. Hermione would be proud_ , he chuckled to himself, before piling them at the left end of his trunk neatly, before putting in his cauldron and potions ingredients beside them in the middle. _My clothes and loose things can go in the last bit_. He'd put his tent in with it once he was ready to leave tomorrow.

When he was done, Harry wiped his forehead, throwing his glasses off to the side. Ever since Gringotts, he'd been noticing the difference his glasses were making with everything. He'd always thought glasses were for reading, because that was what he used them for – nothing else was affected. But now knowing that they actually enabled him to read English made it hard to establish hard facts. If he took them off, he could see perfectly well, but then when he tried to read anything else other than Latin and spells, his head would start aching. Another thing was the weird hallucinations he had without them on.

He'd been visiting the Tower of London the week before when he'd seen a woman and almost screamed. She had fangs, and red eyes, and her skirt showed her mismatched legs – and she'd been staring right at him, practically salivating. But then he'd put his glasses on, and she'd gone back to normal, if looking at him confusedly. It happened a few more times, and each time he swore he saw some kind of creature – a cyclops, a hairy bull-man, snake-women. It was all very 'Greek Mythology', and it creeped him out. Having a guy named 'Neptune' as your supposed father prompted you to read up on the Roman's, not the Greek's. It made him wary that things might not be all that they seem. Though in no way did he even think about contemplating the reality that not only were Roman Gods real, but so were the Greek.

Flopping down on the carpeted ground, Harry started to do some random sit-ups, ignoring the pain with years' worth of experience from much worse. After all, neglect had only made his toddler-self more annoying. He could still remember the time that Vernon first physically disciplined him. Sit-ups were paltry in comparison to what Vernon had inflicted upon the three-year old. He'd taken to fitness as a way to pass the time when he was bored, surprisingly, inspired by Dudley. Apparently he didn't fit into Smeltings' largest size of trousers, so needed to lose weight. Harry, after some thinking and some staring at his own wiry form, only made more dense from Quidditch, decided to exercise just because he could. Also, it helped attract some confidence-boosting attention from others his age that he saw when he walked around more age-appropriate areas of London. Harry nowadays found more ease in wearing a smile and a wink whenever he caught someone's eyes.

(In no way would he be telling Ron or Hermione about his experimentation during the first half of his summer. Erik had been a good kisser, but he liked it more with his twin Erin. While he knew it might take more time to properly decide, if he did at all, he was leaning towards being straight.)

After about two hundred sit-ups, Harry moved to crutches, and then to press-ups. Then he was back to the beginning again, and again, and again…


	2. Chapter 2

"Hermione?" Harry questioned, tapping _A History of Magic_ , "What's the point in doing an essay on the Goblin Wars when we could be learning about previous Dark Lord's?"

"Because we've already covered them," she replied without looking up from _A Novice's Guide to Potions_. "We do essays on Goblin Wars because that's the only material other than the Salem Witch Trials and history of Magical Medical Achievements in Great Britain that is in the exam."

Harry blinked at her across the Weasley's kitchen table. "Wait, what? How do you know all that?" Hermione looked up with a roll of her eyes.

"Because I _listen_ in class, and don't sleep away my learning time, unlike _some_." She gave him a slight glare, before Ron scrunched his nose up.

"Binns' voice makes my brain hurt – why shouldn't I sleep? There's nothing better to do."

Hermione's 'slight glare' became a full-on glare as she looked to their red-haired companion. "You could be actually paying attention in lessons, Ronald Weasley! That's what you could be doing!" They continued to argue as Harry looked at his history text, contemplating. His friends didn't even seem to notice as he made a quick journey up to his room, which was a new guest bedroom beside Ron's in the attic, coming back down with a muggle stationary set and a notepad. Opening it up, he uncapped a bright yellow highlighter and flipped to the contents page, highlighting the chapters about Goblin Wars, the Salem Witch Trials and British Magical Medical Achievements. He was already halfway through a chapter on the Witch Trials when Hermione let out a half-gasp, half-shriek.

"Harry James Potter, what the _hell_ are you doing!?" It was so high-pitched and loud that it had Mrs Weasley coming inside from hanging out the washing on the line to ask what all the fuss was about. As Harry stayed still, high-lighter hovering over the page, Hermione motioned frantically. "He's vandalising his book! He's highlighting it!" She looked about to have a panic-attack. Harry swallowed, before motioning to the book.

"I don't want to be reading about stuff that there's no point to read. Might as well show myself which parts are relevant." Then, he went back to highlighting, surprised at feeling no guilt in Hermione's distress. It was his book – he could do what he wanted to it. Highlight it, rip out a page, burn it, the book was his. Hermione had no say in how he treated it.

Over the next few hours, whereupon Hermione helped Ron with his essays and Fred and George eventually joined them to do their potions assignments, Harry went through his history texts from both first and second year, using the notepad to write down whatever he thought pertinent to each topic they were studying.

It was the start of a habit Harry never anticipated: writing everything down.

* * *

During the weeks between that study session and September first, Harry threw himself into his studies. He had to buy a whole stack of notebooks as it continued, and always had at least two, plus a three clicker-pens in his pocket for when he needed them, or had an epiphany. It became habit for him to just randomly take one out and pen down whatever idea or thought had struck him.

They had to pick their subjects during that time. Harry let Hermione and Ron argue over the latter's choices as he carefully ticked boxes. Eventually he decided to start taking Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Magical Theory, Ancient Studies and Ghoul Studies – but while also not dropping Astronomy. Harry hoped they could fit it all into his timetable, and had a feeling he'd have to choose not to take three – for which, he eventually noted down he'd prefer the dropped subjects to be Ghoul Studies, Astronomy and Ancient Studies, in that order.

Of course, not everything he did was study. He did play a lot of Quidditch with Ron, Ginny and the twins, and practiced his abysmal chess-playing skills with Ron. More than a few times he willingly volunteered to cook dinner, or lunch, but only once was he allowed to do it all by himself. Mrs Weasley didn't want him to do all the work, as a guest.

When their Hogwarts letters came though, Harry was pleasantly surprised by the added post-script.

 _PS. Mr Potter, you have deigned to sign up for an unusual amount of classes. Unfortunately, as you, at best, an average student, I would need to see some proof that you are willing to work hard enough to pass these classes, and be a responsible enough student to handle the benefits of this position. If you would send me an essay before the twentieth of August about why and how you can balance this workload, as well as what you know about each of your new subjects, I would be happy to acquiesce to your choices._

He sent his essay off on the eighth of August, little over a week after his birthday and Sirius Black breaking out of Azkaban. By then he'd read the introduction and first few chapters of all his new books – and finished going through all his older ones, with the obvious exception of Lockhart's books – and did indeed have a lot to say. Hermione herself was very impressed by it, though Ron was less than encouraging.

"Why'd you sign up for so many classes anyway, mate? It's an easy O with Divination – now I'm gonna be alone," he whined, making Harry shrug.

"On the contrary to what you believe, Ron, I actually like learning. I…I just forgot, for a while."

"Two years is not 'a while'," Hermione shook her head, "Ron's a bad influence on you." At that, Harry frowned at his friend.

"And what if he is? He's our friend."

Hermione shook her head again, "I'm just saying that Ron doesn't study enough, and if you like it before then maybe you copied his habits-"

"I never said that," Harry interrupted as Ron glared at Hermione, "I said I like learning, not that I like studying. I only just learnt how to study recently – still learning, actually."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "They're not _that_ different-"

"Yes, they are," Harry said, getting impatient, as he sat further into the couch, grouchy, "Learning is about taking in new stuff. Studying is about memorising and revising and taking what you've already learnt in again in a different way. So just shut up already." Hermione's eyes widened, full of hurt, and then Harry realised what he'd just said and sat up. "Wait, oh shit, no- Merlin, I'm sorry Hermione, I shouldn't have said that-" He went to stand, but she was already walking off, eyes full of tears. "Fuck!" He hissed, before looking to Ron, who was panicked. "Ron, what do I do?!" But Ron just shook his head quickly. Harry felt inside out – usually Ron was the one fighting with her. _No_ , he thought guiltily, _that wasn't even a fight – that was me being a bastard._

Pushing himself around the sofa, he went towards the stairs, hearing her door shut. "Fuck," he muttered again before going up, slowing when he neared her door, hearing nothing and immediately wondering if it was bad enough that she wasn't crying, or if she just wasn't that upset. He raised his hand up slowly, hesitating before knocking. "Hermione? Are…are you okay? I didn't mean it, I wasn't thinking straight-"

The door opened, revealing his bushy-haired friend, her eyes red as she looked at him frostily. "You were rude, and you shouldn't have been mean. Go away and come back later. Maybe then I'll accept an apology." She shut the door again, and Harry was left feeling numb. He looked to the floor.

"Fuck."

* * *

They still weren't back to being normal a week later. Hermione started hanging out with Ginny more, and despite the almost two-year bridge between them, they were a solid front. As they drifted closer and closer to September first, it was more as if she were Ginny's guest than Ron's. Harry had thought she would have at least reached out to Ron, but she hadn't.

"It's cause we're only really friends through of you, Harry," Ron had answered when he pondered it aloud. "You're the link between us. We aren't friends without you, so if she isn't friends…"

It came to a head on the thirty-first of August.

Ron and Harry were swimming in the large fresh-water pond at the bottom of the Weasley's garden, their clothes and Harry's glasses off to one side.

"Do it again!" Ron commanded as Harry came up to the surface, looking at the fish still swirling around them in formation. "How long were you even under there for?"

Harry shrugged, "I dunno – want to see how long I can go without coming up for air?" Ron nodded.

"Sure. On three. One, two…three." Harry ducked down under the water, swimming expertly down to the bottom of the deep pond, grabbing onto a large rock so he wouldn't float to the surface. He didn't breath for ages – until his lungs burned – and then made the mistake of breathing out, and then breathing in. He went to go up to the surface, simply on reflex, when he realised that instead of making him choke, the water had oxygenated him. _Well your dad_ _ **is**_ _God of the Sea and Water and all that bull…_ he remembered idly, staying down for ages longer, watching the fishes go by until he felt Ron kicking his ankles. He came up, only to find Ron looking at him with pale skin.

"How long was I under for?"

Ron treaded water, looking hesitant, "Mate, I don't know how to say this, but-"

Then they heard Fred and George yelling for Mrs Weasley. They turned to look right in time to see a gigantic behemoth taller than even Hagrid stomping towards the Burrow – all covered in fur, with a boar's head and horns to match, but with hairy hands and legs like a human's. Wielding a large double-ended blade, it went to swing up at where Harry knew Hermione was studying in bed. So of course, he had to do the heroic thing, completely forgetting Ron was still talking.

"Hey ugly!" The monster turned, Ron ducking underwater as Harry got out, pulling on his three-quarter length trousers from before and running forward. "Yeah! Look at me! Come on you cow-faced hunk of beef!" The monster roared before charging forward. Harry dodged easily, Ron squeaking and swimming hurriedly out of the way, the monster stumbling into the pond, getting tangled up. Ron scrambled out of the pond, just as Harry came back, wielding a pitch-fork. To the red-head's horror, Harry jumped on its back, impaling it in the neck until it disintegrated, dropping Harry into a gold-dusted pool.

"Harry!" Came Hermione's terrified shout, Mrs Weasley, Ginny and the twins right behind her as Harry came out of the pond, water slipping off his body. Hermione, not even noticing, ran over to him and hugged him tight, "Harry, never do that ever again! You could have died!"

Harry hugged her back, not listening as he shut his eyes, shaking slightly from the adrenaline. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed this kind of stuff – how he'd enjoyed running from the basilisk, and facing down both Tom and Quirrell. But that didn't matter.

Hermione was hugging him. That meant she cared – and hopefully, meant they were friends again.

"Are we okay now?" He asked, voice cracking both literally and figuratively. Hermione pulled away, pressing their foreheads together.

"Yes, we're okay now." Then, she hugged him again before moving onto Ron, checking him over for injuries before reprimanding him for letting Harry do all the hard work.

* * *

The mere memory of the dementors was enough to shake him.

Harry didn't understand why they had to guard the school – they should be out looking for Black, not guarding _him_ of all people. Why would Black want to come after him anyway? He didn't even know the guy, let alone what he'd done to get in and out of Azkaban.

A better note was that he had a time-turner. Apparently, that 'responsibility' McGonagall had alluded to in her letter was the time-turner itself. He was to use it for class, schoolwork and for catching up on sleep – and only when he needed to as well, regarding the latter two. Hermione had one too, and with McGonagall's permission he would be allowed to confiscate her time-turner when he felt she was pushing herself too far, as they both he and McGonagall knew she eventually would.

He actually enjoyed most of his classes, though Arithmancy was gruelling. The first month of lessons was focused on getting them up to speed in mathematics and then some. For Harry, because of the way he had to act with Dudley leaning over his shoulder, this meant not only did he have to learn three years' worth of maths, but also more than that. It was horrible, and most of his time turner usage went into spending four extra hours in the evening going over that stuff. By the time week five came, only eleven out of the original twenty-nine were left – he, Hermione, Draco Malfoy to his disgust, a Slytherin girl called Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin boy called Blaise Zabini, a Ravenclaw girl called Morag MacDougal, another Ravenclaw girl called Su Li, Ravenclaw boys Kevin Entwhistle and Anthony Goldstein, and Hufflepuff's Justin Flinch-Fletchley and Megan Jones.

Professor Vector was a hard taskmaster, and held a soft spot for Megan Jones, but was very impressed with his note-taking skills – though, not very impressed with his handwriting. She recommended an older Ravenclaw student who was helping the muggleborn firsties this year with learning how to use quills and inkpots properly in the library on Friday's. But she piled up homework like a demon. It was a tremendous amount of work, always on his mind. Had he done this work? This page? That essay?

Really, the only reprieve he got from Arithmancy was when he played Quidditch.

Oliver was working them hard this year – as a seventh year, he would be graduating and therefore, this was his last year as Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain. Harry, Oliver, Fred and George, and Katie, Alicia and Angelina worked together like a well-oiled machine, and sometimes Harry thought that they were meant to play together. Everything was easy, and whenever they practiced a new formation, there were barely any mistakes at all. But this year, Harry found more of an ease in it all, his muscles not sore at the end of practice due to his new exercising hobby.

Every morning at five, he would wake up, warm up with some crutches, sit-ups, etcetera, and then go for a run around the lake, making it back to his dorm before eight o'clock in time for a quick shower. After, he would dress, then go have breakfast with Ron and Hermione. In the evenings, he went to bed early after some pull-ups using his bedframe.

But the _dementors_.

They were hell, hell in a handbasket. He was actually surprised he could do his morning run with their presence. Luckily, they seemed to stay far away from him, as if not able to go past a line…or something. Maybe the ward-line – he was learning about Ancient Greek magic in Ancient Studies, which included Pythagoras' first attempts at warding. Hogwarts supposedly had the best ward scheme in the magical world, so it was a viable theory.

As he ran up to the school, he thought back to the train when he fell unconscious – Professor Lupin had made something appear that chased the dementor away, according to Hermione and Ron. Could he teach Harry that? _No, it's probably really complicated magic…_ He would study into what it might be some more before approaching the man.

Coming up to the school, he opened one of the large doors, slipping inside before jogging over to the stairs.

"Mr Potter, what are you doing? And where were you just now?"

He paused, twisting to see Professor McGonagall looking irate. "I was running around the lake, Professor. I'm going up to my dorm for a shower and to catch Ron."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I personally know how long it takes to run around that lake, Mr Potter, and students are not allowed onto school grounds before seven AM."

He blinked, "Oh. I- Sorry Professor. I didn't know."

She shook her head. "It is alright, Mr Potter. I actually commend you. I'll ask you to come to my office this evening after dinner. Now get to your dorm." Harry hurried off, jogging up the stairs and deftly skipping the missing one each time he knew it was coming. By the time he made it up to his dorm, the early risers were just leaving, so he hurried up to grab the shower, only to find Neville in. Immediately he groaned. _Neville takes forever – I'll be late to class if I have to wait for him._ But he waited, going over and taking Ron's covers to wake his friend up before stripping to his underwear and waiting with a towel. Usually he'd get undressed in the bathroom, but oh well.

But maybe he should have remembered what scars his Uncle Vernon had left before he did.

"Oh my god, Harry!" Came Seamus' yelp. He turned, only to see Seamus and Dean looking at him horrified. Harry looked at them blankly.

"What?"

Dean motioned to him with a slack arm. "Harry, how…who gave you the scars on your back?"

Harry blinked. "My Uncle Vernon. What about them?"

Dean looked horrified, as did Seamus. The Irish lad went to speak when Dean hit him on the arm, muttering to him. Harry didn't hear what he said, but Seamus nodded and finished getting dressed, hurrying out.

"What was that about?"

Dean came over slowly. "Harry, those…those kind of scars aren't right. Seamus…I told Seamus to get Professor McGonagall."

Harry became annoyed. "Why? They're just scars. I got them ten years ago. Uncle Vernon hasn't done anything as bad for ages."

"What did he do though?" Dean asked quickly, sounding rattled. "Why did he?"

Harry, rankled at his attention, turned completely, therefore not seeing Ron's bleary eyes widen. "I was bad. I wouldn't stop crying, or I was hungry, or Dudley had done something I thought unfair."

"What did Dudley do?" Ron asked from behind him.

"Harry Hunting, beat me up with his friends, say I cheated in school," he listed, rolling his eyes, "heaps of stuff. It's no big deal. Why are you guys so hooked on this?"

" _Harry Hunting?_ " Came identical horrified voices from the doorway. Harry looked over, only to find Fred and George standing there with confused, vicious eyes. "What's _that?_ "

"They…" Harry started, confused, "they chased me around, made me hide in places I couldn't get out of, made me late for school trying to get down from the tree in the playground…why are you so upset?"

Fred and George exchanged a dark look before leaving, shutting the door behind them. Neville came out of the shower, slowing as he saw their faces.

"Guys…?"

Harry stood, rushing over and slipping past his dormmate, wanting to get out of the oppressive atmosphere. Shutting and locking the door, he started the shower again and got in, turning the water down to freezing – as Aunt Petunia forced him to do to conserve hot water. Half an hour later, a lot longer than he usually took when showering, he was blue, shivering and had an aching head, but smelt like oranges and cinnamon. Going into his dorm, he decided he would skip breakfast – only to find Professor Snape standing in his dorm with a sneer, his dormmates all standing in a line in front of the beds.

"What's going on…?"

Snape sneered, "Mr Potter, please turn around." Harry tensed up, but did as he was told. There were a few seconds of silence.

"Dammit Petunia…" his Potions Professor muttered, making him blink in confusion. Turning, he looked up at the dour man, who looked a few seconds away from breaking something.

"Sir?"

He flicked his wand, causing Harry to dry, before another flick of his wand caused his clothes to appear on him, all the buttons done up as well as his tie. He felt strangled for a second, before he got used to the sensation, grimacing before taking the towel around from his waist, dropping it over the grate around the central hearth.

"Thank-you sir, but, uh, what?"

Snape stood straight, looking to his dormmates. "Leave." They grabbed their things, before scarpering, none hesitating at the doorway while Snape was there – though they did send him a variety of looks. Snape shut the door once they were gone and glared at him venomously. "You are to go to the Hospital Wing this evening to spend the next few nights there. You will excused from class and Quidditch practice until then." Harry gave him a dismayed look.

"But sir-"

"Your time-turner will allow you to repeat the days you missed," he continued, causing Harry to stop, "but you will still, afterwards, if Madam Pomfrey wishes it, be forced to visit the Hospital Wing every morning after your 'run'. However, this will not give you an excuse to be late for class. If need be, within certain parameters, you may use your timeturner so not to be late, but you must not be seen." He sneered, looking him up and down. "Get your hair cut." Then he swept out, slamming the door behind him.

Harry, still shivering from his shower, sniffed, before cricking his neck, going over to his trunk and getting out his satchel with all his books for the day.

* * *

After second period, he gave an educated guess that he had hypothermia. His shivering had only gotten worse, and his headache hadn't gone away. Excusing himself from company, he used his time turner to back an hour, so as to make sure Madam Pomfrey didn't think he'd refused to go see her sooner.

It was when he went to see her and was shuffled into pyjamas and a bed with a hot-water bottle and heated blankets that he remembered he was related to her. He gave a slight frown, not really sure how to approach her about the subject.

"-silly child. I'll have to ask the house-elves to put a spell on the water to stop it going under a certain temperature – and don't you frown at me, Harry James Potter." She gave him a stern look, making him bite his lip before he spoke.

"Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes?" She asked patiently. He hesitated. "Spit it out, child." She added, not unkindly.

"I went to Gringotts this summer," he blurted out. "I got a genealogy test, and I'm related to Poesy Pomfrey. She's my great-grandmother."

Madam Pomfrey stilled, looking at him with a small frown, "Mr Potter?"

"She…the goblins," he stumbled, "the goblins said she was your half-sister, a squib. I just…" Madam Pomfrey seemed to melt slightly. Her hand went to his shoulder.

"Thank-you for telling me, Harry," she replied quietly, before rubbing her thumb on his back. "Let's focus on getting you better. We'll talk afterwards, and then we might as well start what we would this evening."

He paused, "This evening? Snape said-"

"Professor Snape."

He nodded grudgingly, " _Professor_ Snape, he told me to come here this evening, to spend time here. Why?"

Madam Pomfrey gave him a slight look, before sitting down on the edge of his bed. "Harry, if I can call you that-" he nodded "-when Mr Finnegan came down to inform Professor McGonagall of your scars, they were…alarmed, as they should me. Severus – Professor Snape, agreed to go up and look at them on Professor McGonagall's behalf, in respect to your gender, and due to his experience with helping other students in your situation." At that, Harry frowned.

"Situation?"

Madam Pomfrey hesitated. "May we continue this conversation later, Harry?" He waited a few seconds before nodding slowly, suspicious. _Situation? What situation?_ But, unbidden, as Madam Pomfrey stood and tapped his head, his temperature appearing above her wand, from his mind came images of Ron's room, and his cupboard in comparison. _That's nothing – the Dursley's just didn't have room for me._ But they did. They had a spare bedroom, and Dudley's second bedroom. There was plenty room. _But I can't compare my life to Ron's – his family are all witches and wizards. They can magic a room onto their house._

"Well, you're getting better already, but rather slowly. I'd give it a few hours. Would you like one of the books from your school-bag?" Harry nodded and she fished out his spell-book – Miranda Goshawk's Standard Book of Spells: Grade Three. On his request, she also gave him a notebook and pencil from a side pocket, which he idly wrote in as he flipped through it, making pertinent notations.

At one, she gave him lunch, and by then he was bored out of his mind – the food gave him little distraction, but luckily he was allowed out of the uncomfortably warm bed only minutes after his soup and sandwiches.

"I need you to strip now, Mr Potter."

Harry looked at her, alarmed.

"Why?"

She stood straight as he questioned her from his seat on the bed. "Mr Potter, your dormmates had reason to believe, due to your scarring, that you were being abused. Professor Snape confirmed this when he looked at you only a short amount of time afterwards."

Harry stared in shock.

 _Abused. I was…abused?_

"I know it might be hard to process," Madam Pomfrey spoke quietly. "I would like to check up on you, and to investigate your scars. If I feel it necessary, a St Mungos mind healer would come here periodically to speak to you. Most in Hogwarts with similar home-life's are comfortable either with Professor Snape or myself, but I have a feeling that if you did allow it, you wouldn't be comfortable telling either of us." He shook his head, looking at his sheets numbly. "Do you need some time or can I look over you?"

"I…" he started, "I don't mind." _Abused_. It kept echoing through his mind, like it was on repeat. _Abused. Abused._ He clenched his jaw, before getting out of bed and stripping to his underwear, silent as Madam Pomfrey first did a visual check, before waving her wand, causing sheets of parchment with highly-detailed sketches of parts of his body on them to appear. She folded them up afterwards before motioning him back onto the bed.

"You have a lot of scarring over your back, ankles and shoulders, along with residual knotting on the back of your head."

"Frying pan," he muttered. Madam Pomfrey dutifully noted his words down on a spare piece of parchment, using a self-inking quill from her apron.

"I'll assume that is from where the oil burns are from?"

"Yes."

It continued.


	3. Chapter 3

Getting back to class was like a breath of fresh air, but there was still the knowledge in the back of his mind that his past self was in the hospital wing behind curtains, drinking copious amounts of skelebend and skelegrow, having layers upon layers of scar smoother over his back and speaking sometimes for hours on end to the magical equivalent of a psychologist for an entire week and a half. Harry was surprised his time-turner could go back that far – let alone that it could go back that far with two people. The psychologist came with him, so as to not interrupt his mental healing.

His dormmates got the full story of his physical recovery, of course, but not the how's and why's. From their first questions, they'd already gotten the basic gist, and he wouldn't tell them more than that. Hermione wasn't brought into the loop – not because of anything sinister, but because Harry just didn't want people to know. The boys got explanations because they wouldn't let it lie if he didn't give at least two sentences worth of info about how he was getting better and how he'd like them not to tell anyone.

After the week and a half, he got into a routine where he would see Aunty Poppy – not Madam Pomfrey, Aunty Poppy – every Tuesday and Friday evening. If it interfered with Quidditch practice or detention, boohoo for Oliver and the teacher, because Poppy was not just his nurse now, but his primary in-school guardian, transferred from Dumbledore as Headmaster. The legal mess was going to be investigated soon, but he asked for it to be brought up later in the year, so there would be more demand for him to be given lodging with Poppy because of the shorter time he'd be going back to Privet Drive. It might not be smart, but it was clever.

Luckily, it didn't affect him much otherwise, and Poppy too was able to help with the dementors by prescribing him with chocolate before and during his runs in the morning. He had spoken to Professor McGonagall about that as well. To his surprise, she introduced him to a man called Richard 'Rick' O'Connell.

Brown-haired, tanned, with average height but good physique, Rick was an older man, but had experience in life – literally. When he was younger, Rick had saved the world from a resurrected Egyptian Priest called Imhotep. Then he did it again, and again, and again – though the latter two experiences, included a Scorpion King and a Chinese Emperor. He, his wife, and his son were all immortal because of all that, granted eternal life by the Gods – the Egyptians, not the Roman, and why, wasn't Rick impressed by the fact he knew about 'those incestuous bastards' – on the condition that they never revealed themselves to society or sided with those who would destroy the world or take over. Naturally, they had apparently just got on with life, unbothered except when it came to their relatives and friends.

Rick had known Professor McGonagall in his youth, and she had called in a favour. Rick would train Harry, basically, and be his coach when it came to enemies. Due to Harry's track record, Rick had said that it was more than likely that this so-called 'Dark Lord' wasn't exactly dead. Harry hadn't any way to prove him wrong, so didn't argue with him. In fact, he was quite relieved.

It filled up his schedule more, but time-turners fixed that. On the evenings after his appointments with Poppy, on the Tuesdays and Fridays, he would see Rick in the Forbidden Forest, using the acromantulas for target-practice, with both magic and muggle weapons. Harry had to wonder why that included a sword, bow and dagger, but didn't protest – especially when the American revealed he would be showing him how to use different types of gun after Easter. They also did some bookwork, but not much – mostly, the bookwork was actually learning other languages. It was the only real type of non-practical work Rick could take. He was more into the get-out-there-and-do-it type of learning. Harry was currently learning the basics of Pharaoh's Egyptian.

A side-note was that he approached Professor Lupin, finally.

They'd had a brilliant time with the ragged professor. He actually taught them stuff, unlike Lockhart. Quirrell had taught them the basics, yeah, but his (fake) stutter was hard to hear past. Lupin actually taught them shit. Harry had faced his boggart, which had turned out to be a life-sized version of what he imagined his real father was like. Everyone had been confused as the two stared each other down, before he cast 'Riddikulus' and turned him into a plate of freshly-cooked haddock.

He'd caught up to the professor before leaving for his next class. On questioning him about the spell he used – the 'Patronus Charm' – and asking if he'd be willing to teach him, the Professor agreed to tutor him on how to cast it. Two hours later, he was leaving Lupin's office, shaking and eating chocolate. Even boggort dementors gave him the shivers. Turned out, the 'charm' was seriously hard. He had to find a happy memory – a _really_ happy memory. Quidditch wasn't enough, so he was still working on it. He came back the next Thursday to continue his tuition, but failed again. Hopefully he'd find a good happy memory soon.

But then, on Halloween, Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor Tower. Because _of course_ he couldn't have a normal Halloween in the Wizarding World.

* * *

A few weeks later, on the day of the first Hogsmeade trip, Harry realised he hadn't gotten a signature from the Dursley's.

Standing in the snowy, pane-less window, he watched as the Hogwarts students walked in throngs out of the castle, getting on the horseless carriages to go to the Wizarding town. _I wish I could go_ , he thought wistfully. _At least Ron said he'd get me something from Honeydukes and Zonko's._

"Hey," came a sudden hiss. He turned, peering around.

"Yeah, over here!" He finally found the whisperers – Fred and George were there, peering out at him from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch. They peeked their faces out around it, looking around, before they jumped out, grabbing him and pulling him down the corridor.

"We've got something for you-"

"Yeah, we couldn't stand the look on your face-"

He raised an eyebrow, amused at their banter, though still completely oblivious to their intentions.

"What are you doing? How come you're not going to Hogsmeade?"

"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," said Fred, with a wink that made the third-year both suspicious and excited. "Come in here…"

He nodded toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue before pulling him inside. George closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry.

"Early Christmas present for you, Harry," Fred then pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry, suspecting one of Fred and George's jokes, stared at it.

"What's that supposed to be?"

"This, Harry, is the secret of our success," said George, patting the parchment fondly.

"It's a wrench, giving it to you," said Fred, "but we decided last night, your need's greater than ours."

"Anyway, we know it by heart," said George. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it anymore."

"And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?" said Harry.

"A bit of old parchment!" said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. "Explain, George."

"Well, when we were in our first year, Harry – young, carefree, and innocent-" Harry snorted. He doubted whether Fred and George had ever been innocent.

"Well, more innocent than we are now," George shrugged, grinning, "-we got into a spot of bother with Filch."

"We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason-"

"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual – detention, disembowelment, and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."

Harry let out a short laugh. "Don't tell me you-"

"Well, what would you've done?" said Fred. "George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed this."

"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," said George. "We don't reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."

"And you know how to work it?"

"Oh yes," said Fred, smirking. "This little beauty's taught us more than all the teachers in this school."

"You're winding me up," said Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment.

"Oh, are we?" said George. He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point that George's wand had touched, reminding Harry of the ivy that had joined his real name to Lily and Neptune's. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

 _Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDERS MAP_

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labelled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labelled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Harry's eyes travelled up and down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else.

This map showed a set of passages he had never entered. And many of them seemed to lead-

"Right into Hogsmeade," said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. "There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four-" he pointed them out "-but we're sure we're the only ones who know about these. Don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it's caved in – completely blocked. And we don't reckon anyone's ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow's planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We've used it loads of times. And as you might've noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone's hump."

"Moony, Wormtail Padfoot, and Prongs," sighed George, patting the heading of the map. "We owe them so much."

"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers," said Fred solemnly.

"Right," said George briskly.

"Don't forget to wipe it after you've used it or anyone can read it," Fred said warningly.

"Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed!' And it'll go blank."

"So, young Harry," said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, "mind you behave yourself."

"See you in Honeydukes," said George, winking.

They left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way.

Harry stood there, gazing at the miraculous map. He watched the tiny ink Mrs Norris turn left and pause to sniff at something on the floor. _If Filch doesn't know, then I won't have to pass the dementors at the gate._ A shiver ran through him in complete opposition to his excitement, but then something Harry had once heard Mr Weasley say came floating out of his memory – _Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can't see where it keeps its brain_.

This map might have bee one of those dangerous magical objects Mr Weasley had been warning everyone against. _Aids for Magical Mischief Makers_. But then, Harry reasoned, he only wanted to use it to get into Hogsmeade, it wasn't as though he wanted to steal anything or attack anyone – and Fred and George had been using it for years without anything horrible happening either.

Harry traced the secret passage to Honeydukes with his finger.

Then, quite suddenly, as though following orders, he rolled up the map, stuffed it inside his robes, and hurried to the door of the classroom. He opened it a couple of inches. There was no one outside. Very carefully, he edged out of the room and behind the statue of the one-eyed witch.

 _What do I have to do to make it open?_ He pulled out the map again and saw that a new ink figure had appeared upon it, labelled Harry Potter. It stood exactly where he was standing, about halfway down the third-floor corridor.

Harry watched carefully. His little Ink self appeared to be tapping the witch with his minute wand. Harry quickly took out his real wand and tapped the statue. Nothing happened. He looked back at the map. The tiniest speech bubble had appeared next to his figure. The word inside said, 'Dissendium'.

"Dissendium!" Harry whispered, tapping the stone witch again.

At once, the statue's hump opened wide enough to admit a fairly thin person. Harry glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then tucked the map away again, hoisted himself into the hole headfirst, and pushed himself forward. _Thank Merlin I'm skinny_. Even Poppy's attempts to make him bulk up had failed. She'd given up the day before yesterday, after the nutrient potions course he had taken finished, his weight not changing with it. She eventually supposed it was natural – his metabolism was probably too fast for any serious weight gain, at least right now.

Sliding a considerable way down what felt like a stone slide, then landing on cold, damp earth, Harry stood up, looking around. It was pitch dark. He held up his wand, muttered, "Lumos!" and saw that he was in a very narrow, low, earthy passageway. He raised the map, tapped it with the tip of his wand, and muttered, "Mischief managed!" The map went blank at once. He folded it carefully, tucked it inside his robes, then, heart beating fast, both excited and apprehensive, he set off.

 _Hogsmeade, here I come._

* * *

In life, you have good and bad, most cultures having some sort of saying, or traditional aspect that symbolised balance. The Chinese called that balance Ying and Yang. In the case of Harry Potter on this day, the good part was gaining the Marauders Map and going to Hogsmeade for the first time. The bad part was discovering that Azkaban escapee and murder, Sirius Black, was his godfather.

It tore him up inside, and once he told Healer Zulu why he was being so angry, yet so despondent, the woman offered him advice.

"I'm not going to tell you to let go of your anger. That is rightfully yours. This man betrayed your parents and is accomplice to their murders. What I will tell you to do is to use that anger. Focus it into something – your training with Mr O'Connell, for instance. Use it as a way to sharpen your mind, not cloud it. He may be after you, he may not – but either way, what anger you have for Sirius Black should not interfere with your life. Your friends are probably missing you. I know for a fact that Mr Weasley doesn't understand, despite knowing about the situation."

Harry glanced at her, frowning. "You spoke to him?"

Zulu shook her head. "I informed him of the term Healer-Patient Confidentiality and gave him a definition, nothing more. What I lifted from _him_ though is that your attitude is noticeable. I would also add that a plan for revenge would not be advisable in the long run. He will be getting the Dementors Kiss as soon as they find him, and if you wish to inflict the hurt you feel for his actions before this happens, the Ministry would have no choice but to prosecute you. In the Wizarding World, they have no rule against prosecuting minors." She gave a slight smirk. "Also, if you deliberately damaged a soulless husk, they would have no choice but prosecute you then, either. It classes as necrophilia."

Harry enjoyed his talks with Healer Zulu. She had a sense of dark humour, and Harry, as a pessimist himself, enjoyed her way of thinking and understood it better that when Poppy talked to him, sometimes.

He got back up on his feet quickly though, none-the-less, pushing himself in everything but Quidditch. That was going terrifically, with the exception of the dementors attacking during the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. He'd caught the snitch right before Cedric Diggory, then fell off his broom after a dementor's skeletal hand brushed his shoulder, the memory of his mother dying in front of his eyes in his mind as he slept – a nightmare on repeat. He had awoken in the hospital wing with remnants of a broken ankle, broken wrist and a medium-level concussion, his Nimbus destroyed and the snitch trapped in a jar beside his bed, courtesy of Angelina.

He'd stayed there another two days before being discharged, making sure to that no-one found out about the shiny black skin in the shape of a long, thin handprint on his shoulder, with the obvious exception of Poppy, who had caught a glimpse when changing him into pyjamas.

At least though, in his next Patronus lesson, he finally found his happy memory. It just sucked that it was only due to the dementors that he remembered his mother's face.

* * *

"Very well done, Harry," Professor Lupin praised, smiling softly at him. Harry grinned wearily, before biting into some chocolate. "That was nearly corporeal today."

Harry nodded, before swallowing. "Professor, I've been meaning to ask something." And he had, but until now it had slipped his mind. "I was in the library a few weeks ago and I found a yearbook – you were in the same year as Lily and James Potter." On any other occasion, he would be nervous, jittery – but the boggart dementor had made him weak and tired. He didn't have the energy to be nervous.

Lupin, at his words, looked startled, "Oh, uh, I-" he paused, before taking in a slow breath. "Yes, I…I was in their year. I shared a dorm with James for seven years."

Harry sat up a little at that in his seat. _Neptune might be my father, but so is James Potter_. "Were you friends?"

Lupin let out a slow smile, leaning back. "The best," he replied softly. "I spent some time with your mother, too. We were in a study group together – both top of our year, and prefects together too."

It was there that Harry started to frown, "Professor, if you were their friend…where were you when I was growing up?"

The man hesitated. "Harry…I, I suffer from a condition," he looked apologetic, hurt in his eyes, "I'm sorry I was never there, truly, I am. When you were a baby, I was barely around either due to the war. You lived in a safe-house the majority of your life with Lily and James, due to Potter Manor being destroyed when the Death Eater's killed your grandparents."

Harry swallowed, "Death Eaters?" _Weren't they-_

"You-Know-Who's followers," Lupin clarified, not realising Harry knew already. "Sirius Black was one of them."

"Fudge said he was my godfather," he uttered, only taking in what he'd just said when he saw Lupin's angry, stricken face. "Did you know him too? Sirius Black?"

"I did," Lupin ground out under his breath, "He, I, your father and Peter Pettigrew were friends throughout our entire school career, called ourselves the Marauders-"

Harry immediately went wideyed. "The _Marauders?!_ Like, creators of the Marauders Map?" Lupin straightened, looking him right in the eyes, dark blonde hair falling over his amber eyes.

"You have it? You have the Map?"

Harry floundered for a second, before taking it out of his pocket. Lupin stared at the parchment, before holding out his hand.

"May I? Please, Harry?"

Harry handed it over, watching avidly as the Professor tapped it. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good." The Map inked itself, Lupin's eyes travelling over every section with unblinking eyes – freezing when he found Gryffindor Tower.

"No, no, it can't be." Lupin whispered, staring.

"Professor?" Harry spoke up tentatively. "Sir, is everything alright?"

Lupin's head snapped up. "What?"

Harry leant forward, taking the Map slowly. "Is everything alright, sir?" He blanked it, before putting it away blindly, watching Lupin as his mouth opened and closed. _Who did he see?_ He swallowed. _Sirius Black?_ "Sir-"

"May I have the Map back please, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "Why?" He didn't even know which Marauder he was yet.

"Because," Lupin started, "what if Black got a hold of the Map? He and Peter were the ones to map the castle – he already knows his way around – but to give him that would be suicide, Harry. What if he tried to seek you out? You're very lucky he got the wrong bunk on Halloween-"

"Which Marauder are you?" He tried to change the topic hurriedly. Lupin went to answer, but he knew he'd just go right back to it. "I mean, Fred and George worship you. They think you guys were genius'. If you told them which one you were, they'd probably build a shrine."

Lupin blinked, before blushing. "Surely not-" Harry grinned.

"They would. So which one were you?"

"Moony," he answered after a second, slowly smiling proudly. "James was Prongs, Black Padfoot and Peter Wormtail. When you were little, we used to call you Prongslet. Before they found out you were a boy, James called you Bambi too, on occasion."

"Why Bambi?" Lupin gave a secretive smile.

"An inside joke," he gave a small smile before holding out his hand. "I think I should reintroduce myself."

Harry took his hand, liking the idea. "Sounds good to me. I'm Harry."

"Remus Lupin," Remus shook, "call me Remus."

Harry gave a cheeky grin, "I think I prefer Uncle Moony."

Remus grinned right back at him. "I think I prefer that too."

* * *

Getting to know Remus was the cataclysm for several events.

The two spent more time together on the Thursdays, after Patronus training was over. Remus would tell him stories about James, and about Lily occasionally. When Harry questioned what exactly a Marauder was, he gave a mischievous grin and told tales of multi-coloured Slytherin's and polka-dot ghosts. One memorable prank had been their final End-of-Year Feast in their seventh year, when they'd spelled fireworks to explode inside the Great Hall to the song 'We Are the Champions' as they entered the hall in a line, bowing and being 'all-round magnificent'. Harry quickly became awed by both their creativity and magical prowess, as most of what Remus described was either stupidly simple or amazingly, highly complex. Harry made sure to write it all down in a notebook specially dedicated to recording the antics of the Marauders.

One evening he found himself asking about the Map and its construction, but Remus' lips were sealed – though he did welcome him to try discovering its inner-workings. For a month, it was his pet project before he gave up, deciding to plan out his own series of pranks. Different things happened. Draco Malfoy's hair turned pink, Professor Sinistra's robes would flash bright yellow whenever she spoke, the Ravenclaw table's cutlery would bend and sag when gripped, Oliver would find himself tap-dancing every time someone said the word 'Quidditch' – it was a small amount of pranks, but Harry found himself enjoying the work put into it all. Of course, he made rules for himself – one, no first-year's deliberately targeted. Two was Not Snape, Never Snape, Don't Even THINK About Snape. Three was to join up with the Twins whenever they offered, or otherwise he would find himself a target for their schemes.

Remus complimented him after the first time he finished a prank, he caused the words ' _Mischief Managed_ ' to appear. Snape gave him a detention soon after, funnily enough, the trend continuing each time he spelled the fiery words to appear.

As Christmas approached and school ended, he wandered the castle more. Ron and Hermione had gone home, the former because his family were going to Peru to visit Bill, Ron's brother, while the latter went skiing in France with her parents. He found himself aiding Peeves in making the suits of armour sing carols, and using special trapping spells for those who went under mistletoe.

Basically, he was becoming bored.

It was the twenty-third of December when he was walking down the seventh floor. Peeves was following him when he saw the tapestry of a man teaching trolls ballet and paused. He dismissed it a few seconds later, walking forward, wishing for somewhere that could provide entertainment when Peeves finally deigned to speak.

"Is Potty interested in ol' Barnabus and his pwetty little twolls?" He teased in a baby voice. Harry stopped, turning back to him, foot sliding forward.

"Peeves, why are you even following me?" _So. Bored. I need. Entertainment._ He rolled his eyes as the poltergeist blew a raspberry, turning back and walking another step forward, only for the being to giggle.

"Not even going to ask why there's a door?"

He turned, opening his mouth to ask what the hell he was on about when he saw it. _That door was not there before._ He peered at it, going forward and turning the handle and looking inside. Within, there was a replica of Gryffindor common room, but with two big differences. Instead of a fire, there was a large television, and beside it, instead of pokers and woodpiles, there were stacks of videos. The room was also half the size.

Harry turned back to ask Peeves about the door, only to find the poltergeist had disappeared. _Weird._ He looked back at the room, eyes zooming in on the videos. _Wait, didn't I ask for entertainment?_ Was that it? He was sure this room wasn't there before. Stepping inside, he shut the door before taking the Map from his pocket, looking for himself on the seventh floor. His eyes widened at finding only a blank space where he knew the room must have been. He tapped the wall where the tapestry had been. A bubble appeared – ' _tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy teaching trolls to dance'_. Harry blinked. _Huh_. He put the Map away, before going over to the television and the videos, picking one out at random. The Dursley's never let him watch telly as a kid.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, was how Harry was introduced to Disney, Pixar, 20th Century Fox, Paramount, Warner Bros., DreamWorks, Metro Goldwyn Meyers, Universal, and Columbia.

* * *

Harry blinked awake, wondering for a second why he was in bed and _why is this so uncomfortable_ before he remembered how he got there. Shooting up, he let out a belated sound of pain as fire shot up his leg. Looking down at it, he panicked before looking around, not recognising his surroundings. Everything was dirty, and _very_ dusty.

"Harry," a voice croaked, prompting him to look up to meet the eyes of a bedraggled man wearing… _prison robes._ He froze.

"Sirius Black." Harry went for his wand, only to find it wasn't in his pocket. Black brought up his hand, showing it to be in his grasp. "Are you going to kill me?"

Black, for a second, looked hurt – but then he was angry. "No! I would never, _could_ never kill you- never you, not you _ever!_ " Harry leant back at his vigour, wondering – if he was telling the truth – why he was there. "I'm sorry you got hurt by me taking you here-" _Him? It was a big fucking hound, not you!_ "-but believe me, Harry, I'd never kill you or hurt you intentionally." His eyes pleaded with him, but Harry only made a distrustful face.

"You're mad."

Black's face twisted in anguish. "Harry, I'm not, you've got to believe me – I'm innocent, I've been framed. I didn't get a trial – I wasn't the one to betray Lily and James, I wasn't, _please_ , please believe me." He fell to his knees, wand rolling to the floor. Harry was silent as he looked at his leg, ignoring the pain as he pushed up his three-quarter length shorts. _Thank God I wasn't wearing trousers –_ that would have been a catastrophe.

Looking at the injury, he grimaced. _That could get infected easily. And it's broken, too._ "Your dog is too strong for its own good."

Black whimpered, "Padfoot didn't mean it, please, he didn't-"

"Padfoot?" Harry questioned, frowning. "You named your dog after your Marauder nickname?"

Black brightened slightly, "You know about the Marauders? About Jamesy and Remy?"

Harry glared slightly at him, "You don't get to talk about them, traitor."

"I'm not a traitor!" Black wailed, putting his hands to his eyes. "It was all Peter, the back-stabbing traitor! Peter was the Death Eater, the Secret Keeper – not me! I thought Peter would be the least likely suspect to be Secret Keeper, and I told James to make him it instead of me, but _tell_ everyone it was me," his shoulders sagged, his arms dropping to his sides, the wand rolling away – and to Harry's horror, rolling precariously close to a gap in the floorboards. "And because of that it's my fault they're dead. I just…I just never did it myself. I never told Voldemort where they stayed. That was all Peter…all Peter…"

Then he promptly collapsed sideways, to Harry's alarm.

"Black? Mr Black?" He hesitated, eyeing his leg before he carefully lifted it, eyes watering at the painful feeling. Moving off the bed he was on, trying not to touch the dusty sheets too much, in fear of making it blow up into the air and onto his wound, he limped to a standing position, going to the still convict slowly. Picking up his wand on the way over, he dropped the ground heavily, straightening his leg before pushing over the man, using a muttered "Incarcerous" to bind him with ropes.

Up close, he seemed a lot younger. Years worth of grime and dirt coated his skin, and Harry had to wonder what condition the inmates of Azkaban were in, if this six-month-freed man was like this. Certainly, he hadn't had a wash – and _oh he smells disgusting._ Grimacing, he started to breath through his mouth, looking him up and down for any weapons. _None that I can see._ Pointing his wand at his forehead, he muttered, "Ennerverate."

He came to with a gasp, eyes flickering around. "Harry, you shouldn't have moved, your leg…"

"I'll do what I like. Now explain," he put his wand in his pocket, taking out a notepad and pen, clicking it open, "in your own words, why you believe you have been unlawfully incarcerated."

The explanation that followed was transcribed word-for-word. When he was done, Harry put his notepad away and took out his wand again.

"Where's the dog? Will it show up any time soon?"

Then, Sirius Black morphed, ropes loosening and allowing the large, black hound with matted fur to wriggle out into a sitting position, tongue wagging as Padfoot looked at Harry with gleaming eyes. Harry stared.

"I didn't expect that."


	4. Chapter 4

Using a disillusionment charm – taught to Harry by Sirius over the span of about ten minutes – Harry was able to make them both look like chameleons. Sirius helped him go through the Shrieking Shack – which was where he had brought him – then the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, then up through the grounds to the castle, whereupon they entered and painstakingly made their way up to the seventh floor. They had to renew their charms on three separate occasions, over the period of three hours – having a bum leg really did something to Harry, even with numbing charms.

Once they were in the Movie Room, as Harry dubbed it, he settled down on the couch and asked the room for skelegrow and a book on healing charms. Both were deposited on his lap, Harry chugging back a good amount of the first before screwing the cap back on with a grimace, the tingle feeling making itself known.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Asked Sirius later, once he'd had an hour and a half-long shower, only to still at the sight of two Harry's. "I think I'm hallucinating."

Both Harry's grimaced. "No. I've broken the first cardinal rule to time-travel – don't be seen." The Harry without the broken leg motioned to himself. "I came from the future to heal my leg with the spell he's about to use, then I'll go back and live out the rest of the day." He looked to his younger self. "It is two o'clock now. I turn back at six – oh, and here's some lunch." He took some sandwiches out of his satchel, giving two to each of them. Then, raising his wand, he healed the flesh-wounds on the younger Harry, before casting a fresh numbing charm. "Bye now." He waved, before taking the time-turner out of his shirt and turning it seven times.

Sirius looked to the only Harry then left in the room.

"Since when did you have a time-turner?"

"Since I decided to take a lot of subjects," he replied, before looking him up and down. "I see you spent a lot of time in the bathroom cleaning up." He eyed his shoulder-length hair and shaven face. "You kinda look like Snape."

At that, Sirius looked stricken, "No, no I don't – I can't look like Snivellus!" He ran back into the bathroom, sandwich still in hand, and there was a few seconds of silence before Harry heard a strangled yell. "I look like Snivellus!" He came back out. "Can I get a wand please?" He asked the ceiling, causing one to appear in his hand. He stared at it for a few seconds. "That's my wand." He held it up. "I thought…my wand…" his eyes went suspiciously wet, before he went back into the bathroom. The next time he came out, his hair was messier, with a zig-zag parting, and he had a beard and moustache, his sideburns gone.

"Snivellus?" Harry questioned. Sirius shrugged.

"Me and James used to prank him a lot. Not to say he didn't get his own back, but we targeted him more than the other Slytherins," he grimaced, "James was always peeved that he was your mum's best friend."

Harry blinked.

"Excuse me, he was what?"

Sirius glanced at him, "He was your mum's best friend, way before she went to Hogwarts. They lived near each other, I think."

Harry thought this over quickly, mentally slotting the title into his view of his professor. Suddenly, a lot of things seemed to both click and make no sense at all. Something occurred to him.

"Wait, so Snape's best friend married his arch-enemy?" He laughed – _it makes so much more sense now. He hates me because I'm supposedly James' son, but he can't truly hate me because I'm mum's too._ Sirius himself gave a wistful laugh.

"Yeah, that's about right." He bit into the sandwich he still hadn't put down. He paused, before looking at the sandwich with hunger. "Jam and peanut butter. I'm…I'm eating peanut butter, a-and jam. PB and J." He dropped to the floor, eating the sandwich slowly and reverently. Harry himself started to eat, watching curiously as Sirius ate what must have been his first sandwich in about twelve years, maybe less.

"Sirius? You know about Uncle Remus and his condition?" Harry asked, as if he already knew. Well, he had a guess. A good, solid idea. Unfortunately, Snape was a bastard, and must either have really just been ignoring the subject material they were covering, or he was trying to make people realise what Remus might be. Sirius nodded. "Is it why you became an animagus?" He thought that maybe Padfoot was his animagus form – like how McGonagall was a cat.

Sirius nodded again. "Yeah. Werewolves don't harm animals-" _oh FUCK I'm right_ "-so we were safe on full moons. He holed himself up in the Shrieking Shack, so he wouldn't hurt anyone. Why? Thinking about becoming one? And 'Uncle' Remus?"

Harry blinked. Becoming an animagus? _That would be so cool_ , he immediately thought, before shaking his head at his godfather. "No, not really, but it's a cool idea – and yeah, I call him Uncle Remus. Have been for less than a month. I got the Marauders Map from the Weasley twins a while back, and when we were talking about James and Lily, he told me how he and James were part of a group called the Marauders, and it sort of went from there. We started spending more time together – I do some pranks on people, now and again. It's fun."

Sirius grinned. "Then you definitely have to become a Marauder. Since you never got taught as a kid, we'll get you started on Occlumency right away." Harry blinked.

"What's Occlumency?"

Sirius finished the last of his sandwich before coming up to sit on the sofa. "Okay, so I had to explain it to Lily once. James had tried telling her what its counterpart was – Legillimancy – but she got really offended because James compared it to mind-reading." Harry became instantly wary. "Just listen, okay? First off, I is need to tell you what a mind to magic. To magic, your head – where all your memories are stored – is…it's not like a book," he shook his head, "it's more like…everything's on this circle, in a big mess. With Legillimancy, you learn how to reach out your magic and go 'walk around' in another person's mind. Occlumency is like putting a cover over your mind, stopping the Legillimens from getting in – that's what they're called."

Harry tested it on his tongue. "Legillimens."

Sirius smiled, "That's it. Those who use Occlumency are called Occlumens. When you grow up in a magical family, it's something your parents teach you, if they know how. I learnt it from my dad, and he learnt it from his dad and so on and so forth. Sometimes it's the mum, but most of the time it's the dad – mums are too busy usually, with family finances and teaching you to read and write and do your numbers."

"Women do it?" Harry questioned. He knew that most teachers were women, but to hear that they controlled finance… "Money stuff, I mean. Don't men do it too?"

"Well, yeah, but that's only just recently came into fashion in the last hundred years or so." Sirius waved it off. "Women were the scholars, men were the fighters. If a man handled his money without the help of his dam, it was because he was widowed, or he was a muggle-born or muggle-raised. But anyway, men taught the children magic stuff, which includes Occlumency. James was teaching your mum before she died, so if anything happened to him, she'd be able to teach you."

"What about you?" He questioned. "Couldn't you have taught me?"

Sirius looked at him, aghast. "Merlin, no. Harry, while I might be your godfather, there are some things I could have never taught you. Occlumency has to be taught by a blood relative, or there's no use – your magic will rebel. The teacher has to use a special type of Legillimancy. Your magic is the one protecting your memories. By using the family-type of Legillimancy, your magic knows you aren't really in danger, that's it's a practice for the real thing. It'll raise a barrier encouraged by the extra part that is added on with the family-type of Legillimancy. Until then, your magic won't know what Legillimancy is and will accept it despite the pain you'll go through."

Harry swallowed, taking it in. "Then how can you teach me Occlumency?"

"Because you're thirteen," Sirius answered darkly, grey eyes shifting from side to side. "Harry, you must never tell anyone you learnt Occlumency when you were thirteen."

 _Thirteen, what's so important about-_ Suddenly, it clicked, his Arithmancy lessons coming back to him. _Thirteen is a Black Number._ Thirteen was one of five black number's under one hundred. When included in something magical, the magic would always be bad – like, life-ending bad.

"Won't there be side-effects?" He muttered.

Sirius pursed his lips. "I'm a Black, Harry. There's a reason we took on the name. I'll be able to cancel out the effects just by being the person to help you." He didn't elaborate further before shifting, moving from the sofa to the ground beside his upper-half. "I'm going to use the family-type Legillimancy on you now. Your barriers should go up, and you should be able to identify the sensations." He waited till Harry nodded before speaking again. "Okay, here we go-" he raised Harry's wand "-Legillimens!"

Immediately Harry's vision went dark, a foreign feeling, as if he was being poked with a blunt kitchen knife, impaling him in the gut before the image of being chased up a tree by Ripper flashing before his eyes. But before even half a second passed, he felt something in him rising up and slamming down at the same time, cutting off the knife-like feeling, the feeling within the barrier disintegrating while the other half pulled away sharply. His vision came back.

"What-" he suddenly gasped, feeling out of breath all of a sudden, "what was that?"

Sirius gave him a grim look, face grave. "Legillimancy."

* * *

Learning Occlumency with Sirius didn't take long. Rather, it took only that evening before Sirius tried Legillimancy on him without using family-type. Harry repelled his smaller attacks, and for a while had trouble with harder invasions. There was a memorable occasion where Harry got so tired during this that he fainted, prompting a half-hour break after he woke up before he demanded Sirius to attack him. By five o'clock the skelegrow had finished its work, and Harry had good barriers. According to Sirius – who had been 'nicely invading his noggin' – other Legillimens would find trouble, but if he didn't keep his barriers up, they would be able to get in easily. It was vital he always had the frame of mind 'doors shut'.

After they finished, he made sure to memorise the spell to heal his flesh wounds in the past before going to dinner, turning back the clock and realising soon afterwards, when he turned back time again and joined everyone at breakfast that he would, technically, be pulling an all-nighter. The following day was trouble as he attempted to stay away. By the time he got up to his dorm at eight, he was exhausted, and didn't even bother with his exercise as he dropped into bed.

The Christmas Holidays ended abruptly, as everyone came back to school on the third of January. Harry had been enjoying some time in the snow outside when he saw the Hogwarts Express in the distance, and realised that Ron, Hermione and the boys were back. Quickly, he renewed the charms on the armour, making them sing Auld Lang Syne clearly, but with some _very_ rude substitute words at times. Peeves had inspired him the year before last, when he sung the missing lyrics. But it was at the first feast of the year, welcoming them back, that his masterpiece came to life.

As Dumbledore went to speak, a thrum entered the air, the sound of cello reverberating through the hall. Then:

"Ma chère mademoiselle. It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. And now, we invite to relax, let us pull up a chair, as the dining room proudly presents... your dinner." Dumbledore looked comically surprised at his words, spoken in a French accent. Whispers started to fill the hall, before he got up on the table, one slow foot at a time as he started singing...

 _"_ _Be...our...guest, be our guest, put our service to the test,_

 _Tie a napkin round your neck, cherie_

 _And we'll provide the rest._ _"_

Then the food appeared, and Dumbledore gestured to it all magnificently, an orchestra of music playing with him, not a note out of tune.

 _"_ _Soup du jour!_ _"_

It was not soup du jour that was levitated upwards into the air, but instead steak pie.

 _"_ _Hot hors d'oeuvres!_ _"_

Potatoes and butter.

 _"_ _Why, we only live to serve!_

 _Try the grey stuff, it's delicious_

 _Don't believe me? As the dishes!_ _"_

Then, to everyone's great surprise, all the students in the hall got up and started dancing, harmonising with the baffled Headmaster.

 _"_ _They can sing, they can dance!_

 _After all, miss, this is France!_

 _And a dinner here is never second best_

 _Go on, unfold your menu_

 _Take a glance, and then you'll_

 _Be our guest_

 _Oui, our guest!_

 _Be our guest!_ _"_

The Headmaster himself then stopped dancing, simply making sweeping movements with his arms as everyone in the hall started to sing along, Gryffindors, Slytherins, Hufflepuff's and Ravenclaws all dancing along in time.

 _"Be our guest, be our guest, be our guest_

 _Be our guest, be our guest_

 _Get your worries off your chest_

 _Let us say for your entree_

 _We've an array, may we suggest_

 _Try the bread, try the soup_

 _When the croutons loop de loop_

 _It's a treat for any diner!_

 _Don't believe me? Ask the china!_

 _Singing pork, dancing veal_

 _What an entertaining meal_

 _How could anyone be gloomy or depressed?_

 _We'll make you shout encore_

 _And send us out for more_

 _So be our guest, be our guest_

 _Be our guest!"_

That was when the students sat down, the faculty rising...along with Professor Sprout, who got up onto the staff table and started to sing exuberantly, despite her panicked face.

 _"_ _It's a guest, it's a guest_

 _Sakes alive, well I'll be blessed!_

 _Wine's been pouring and thank the Lord_

 _I've had the napkins freshly pressed._ _"_

At this, the dancing students started to pretend to be tea-cups, and napkins, pseudo-cleaning their shiny golden plates.

 _"_ _With dessert, she'll want tea_

 _And my dear, that's fine with me_

 _While the cups do their soft-shoeing_

 _I'll be bubbling! I'll be brewing!_

 _I'll get warn, piping hot!_

 _Heaven's sakes! Is that a spot?_

 _Clean it up! We want the company impressed!_ _"_

Everyone sang the next line.

 _"We've got a lot to do!"_

It went back to Professor Sprout.

 _"Is it one lump or two_

 _For you, our guest-"_

Everyone-

 _"She's our guest!"_

Professor Sprout-

 _"She's our guest!"_

Everyone-

 _She's our guest!_

 _Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest!"_

Then, the music that had been playing in the background suddenly cut out, only cello remaining, as it had done at the start, Dumbledore singing in a low voice.

 _"Life is so unnerving_

 _For a servant who's not serving_

 _He's not whole without a soul to wait upon_

 _Ah, those good old days when we were useful_

 _Suddenly, those good old days are gone_

 _Ten years, we've been rusting_

 _Needing so much more than dusting_

 _Needing exercise-a chance to use our skills_

 _Most days, we just lay around the castle..."_

The music picked up, Dumbledore suddenly grinning.

 _"Flabby, fat, and lazy_

 _You walked in and oops-a-daisy!"_

Then everyone started to sing once more.

 _"Be our guest! Be our guest!_

 _Our command is your request_

 _It's ten years since we've had anybody here_

 _And we're obsessed_

 _With your meal, with your ease_

 _Yes, indeed, we aim to please_

 _While the candlelight's still glowing_

 _Let us help you, we'll keep going-"_

The music slowed dramatically, everyone - student, teacher, faculty – all got up on the tables, arms going over each other's shoulders and dipping, legs going up with the beat.

 _"Course by course, one by one!_

 _Till you shout, "Enough, I'm done!"_

 _Then we'll sing you off to sleep as you digest_

 _Tonight you'll prop your feet up!_

 _But for now, let's eat up!"_

Everyone let go of each other's shoulders before at random, students put their arms up...

 _"Be our guest!_

 _Be our guest!_

 _Be our guest!_

 _Please be our guest!"_

Then everyone finished, the music cutting out and a large fiery message appearing in the stormy ceiling.

 **MISCHIEF MANAGED – FOR NOW!**

* * *

"-fucking spiders!" Harry snarled under his breath as he sagged, the acromantula finally dropping, poison flowing from the punctured venom-sack. Swirling his wrist tiredly, his short-sword shimmered before becoming a long biro. "No wonder Ron hates them – they're bloody menaces."

Rick, from his spot on a tall boulder, blew the smoke from the top of his gun, smirking slightly. "And now you know why I bring you here." The ageless man put his gun away before pushing off the boulder, landing on the forest-floor with a soft thump. "Evie'll be here by now."

Harry gave him an incredulous look, "She's here? Why did we do this then? It'll take forever to get back – and by then she'll be fuming!"

Rick shrugged unworriedly, before walking away, Harry quickly catching up.

"Have you been practicing your languages?"

Harry rolled his eyes before speaking in Pharaoh's Egyptian. Rick gave him a playful scowl.

"You are very rude, Harry. I should tell Evie – she'd know how to punish you."

Harry grinned, "I'll just tell her you were the one to teach me. She'd get you in trouble more than she would me, old man."

"Touché – and don't call me an old man. I'm still young yet," Rick puffed his chest up, before Harry snorted. "Hey!"

The two shared a laugh, before continuing through the forest and up towards the castle, talking about little things. When they finally made it up, however…

"You were supposed to be here forty-eight minutes ago!" Evie glared at them over her glasses, obviously irate as she held a book in her left hand, a quill in her other. "What did I tell you, Rick? Harry-"

"Has to catch up on his Egyptian work," Rick followed on, rolling his eyes before kissing her softly but passionately. She melted in his arms, Harry looked away studiously as they made out-

"No, no, you are not distra- oh…" Walking past them into the classroom, Harry greeted Alex, who smiled and waved. He was doing a sponsored silence for five years – it was nearly at its end, so Harry would get to talk to him soon. Taking out a notebook and pen, he flipped open the huge text on the syntax of Pharaoh's Egyptian laying on his table, probably put out by Evie before he was supposed to arrive. Opening it up, he read through the first page before starting to jot down notes.

When Rick and Evie came back inside, Evie was in quite a daze, making Alex roll his eyes before miming throwing up. Concealing his grin, Harry looked to her before clearing his throat. She snapped out of it.

"Oh, Harry, I see you've started the book. Any problems?"

Harry shrugged, before tapping a hieroglyph used in an example. "What's this one?"

She came over. "What does it look like?"

"It's an Anck symbol, with two wibbly lines above it, and…storks? On either side of it?" he hazarded, never having seen a stork before, prompting her to find it and give out a little laugh.

"Ah, Ahmenophus…"

At that, Rick snorted, looking to Alex, "Isn't that the one you and Uncle Jonathan bonded over?" Alex flipped him the bird, immediately making Rick change his tune. "Hey! You can't do that, young man!" Alex immediately shut the book he was reading, running out of the classroom. "Get back here!"

Evie blinked, "What did he do?" she asked, as she'd zoned out again. Harry and Rick rolled their eyes.

It was when he was packing up that he decided to finally question Rick. "Hey, y'know when I mentioned the Roman Gods a few years back?" Rick looked up from cleaning his rifle.

"Huh?"

Harry squirmed slightly. "The Roman Gods, like Jupiter and Neptune and Minerva…" Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Rick sat up sharply at the sound, eyes going to the ceiling, "Don't say their names, Harry. Names have power…why are you asking?" He looked back at him dubiously.

Harry shifted on two feet, before going into his bag, drawing out his family tree – newly created the summer past for this exact moment. Rick looked it over, immediately blinking in surprise.

"This is…was not expecting this." He looked up at his student, "You're using a fake name?"

"It's a legal nickname," Harry muttered in reply. "So? Can you explain?"

"Yeah," Rick seemed surprised at himself, "yeah, I can, actually. Woah…" he breathed in deeply, before handing the parchment back, sitting down gingerly. "Okay, this might take a short while. You already know that the Gods exist, so that's a plus…uh, best start with demigods." He cleared his throat. "Okay, so basically, demigods were first created by the Gods as soldiers, because the Gods weren't allowed to fight the big fight. Ancient Laws were set out for them. I'll get back to them later. Anyway, demigods were cannon fodder to some gods, some actually treated as what they were by some of the more human-like gods. Which is another thing – Gods aren't human, so don't expect them to act or think like humans."

They met eyes, Harry nodding upon seeing his seriousness. "They aren't human. Got it."

Rick nodded. "You're lucky to have that guy as your dad – he's one of the nicer Gods, and doesn't get around as much as his younger brother," he gave Harry a significant look at that, causing the boy to blush. Rick smirked for a second. "Yeah. The only area he probably does more than humans and his own wife would be the water spirits. That's were cyclops' come from. They're technically monsters, but most are benevolent, and would more likely side with you than fight against you, as your half-brothers."

Harry's eyes widened, feeling his stomach flip. "Brothers?"

"Half," Rick replied sharply, "Remember that. Your father is millions of years old. He witnessed the creation of humankind, just like the Norse, Egyptian, Tribal, Seasonal, Aztec and all other Pantheons of Gods. Each is from a different area of the world, and each had different paths to tread. Which brings me to my next point – the Gods move from society to society, changing to fit their religions. The Roman Gods didn't originate from Rome – they originated from Greece. They were the Olympians long before they were the Roman's. Obviously, there are major differences between them, and sometimes there aren't counterparts, so new Gods come into existence, blah blah blah. Keeping up?"

Harry nodded, before belatedly starting to write it all down. But Rick grabbed his hand, shaking his head.

"Best not, kid. The Mist that hides magic, powers, etcetera that are from the Godly Worlds would translate your notes into some babble that no one would understand and put you into a psych ward for. Just don't. Trust me."

"I trust you," Harry admitted slowly, putting his notebook away, scrapping the piece of paper he had started writing on. "You said something about Ancient Laws?"

"Getting there," Rick said, shaking his head, "Sorry, I just want to speed through this. Okay, okay…so, basics down. Greek Gods became the Roman Gods on their journey West with the rest of Western Civilisation-" Harry blinked "-the Sea guy is your dad, and you have heaps of half-siblings, except no half-sisters. The guy seems incapable of having daughters. Demigods are soldiers of the gods, and are considered cannon fodder by the majority, half the time with the exception of the actual parent. Now, details. Your dad, just so you know, loves his children, no matter their mother, and expects great things from his demigods. Also, you have a half-brother called Triton and a step-mother called Amphitrite-" Rick kept speaking, but at that Harry blanked out.

 _Step-mother_.

All his life, Harry had been alone. The Dursley's weren't suitable guardians, he knew that now – Doctor Zulu still saw him once a week. With her help he had identified feelings he felt. One had apparently been a yearning for a parental figure – more specifically, a mother. That feeling now was taking him over, filling up his chest and seeping through the cracks in his façade. Hope built in the pit of his stomach. _I could get a mum_. He could get a _mum_ -

"Harry!" Rick's hand snapped in front of his face, "Buddy, you okay?" He looked at him with a worried look. Harry swallowed, before opening his mouth to speak.

"How can I contact them?"

Rick's worried expression evaporated. "And this is why I wanted to speak about the Ancient Laws. Buddy, the Gods aren't allowed to interfere in mortal matters – which means involving themselves in anything related to humans. That includes their children."

Harry's heart plummeted. "But-"

"They could get in real trouble, kid," Rick interrupted softly, voice low and apologetic. "I'm sorry, but nothing good can come of contacting your dad, kid." _It wasn't my dad I was thinking of,_ he thought privately to himself as he stood, going to the door. Rick let him go.

* * *

The thoughts about it didn't go away. So what if they weren't allowed to interfere? Exchanging letters wasn't interfering – it was just informing, a completely different word! It was what drew him to the Room to write his letter, taking hours upon hours. Finally, he had something worthwhile…that was when he encountered a problem.

"How do I send a paper letter to Atlantis?"


	5. Chapter 5

Amphitrite was irate. Poseidon had once again fallen in with one of those stupid sea-nymphs, and she had to suffer the embarrassment of walking in on them, _in her own bed,_ _ **again**_. Sometimes, the Goddess wondered why she even stayed with him – she could make a life outside Atlantis if she wanted, hole up in some spare palace on the other side of the world. Triton could visit her, and all her favourite servants and guards could come with her, because she would still be the Queen. She was entitled to her own space, after all.

Sighing, the Goddess rubbed the bridge of her green nose angrily, feeling her gills flare as she detected _plastic_. She hated plastic – it polluted the sea, choking her subjects and littering the Kingdom. Swimming forth, she sped towards the substance, before stopping quite suddenly as she found Hermes swimming about with an air bubble around his head.

"Your Highness! Lovely to see you again – you've got mail, from a very creative person!" He held out the plastic, and a glance at it saw that instead of some piece of stretchy film that went over cans, or a part of a broken boat, there was a letter, covered in clear plastic, folded in half and held together with a shimmering wax seal. Amphitrite frowned, before snatching it off him, swimming off with not even a word of gratitude.

Amphitrite had never gotten a letter before.

Well, she had gotten a letter, but never one made of paper, clearly sent by someone without godly powers – who did she even know that didn't? Curiosity flaring, she cracked the seal, eyeing the wax. The magic that had surrounded it before was broken, but it didn't send off any flare or signal. But immediately, Amphitrite, upon tasting wax in the water, understood that it had been protecting it, just like the plastic coat over the letter – which she opened, after disintegrating the wax. Upon seeing the text, unwillingly she felt herself change, becoming _Salacia_ , rather than _Amphitrite_. The Roman Goddess immediately bristled, before reading the letter, immediately becoming confused at the term of address at the top, feeling herself change back and forth at random as she read.

 _Dear Queen Amphitrite of Atlantis,_

 _Your Majesty, I give apologies if I did not write out your name right, or your title. I am rather new at this, and I do not know the name of your Roman persona. I give apologies if the following words offend you. I am writing because I found out a time ago that my father is Neptune, your husband. To be more specific, I am a bastard, a demigod, and I was wondering if I could communicate with you, as our relation makes you my step-mother, technically. Again, I apologise, if I seem forward, or blunt. I am not good at writing letters, and am relatively new to Latin format._

 _I guess you should know some more things about me. Well first, my name is, officially, Henry Evans. Unofficially, I am called Harry Potter. I prefer it to my official name. As I said, I only found out a time ago – last summer, actually. I am turning fourteen this July, on the thirty-first, and I was near thirteen years when I found out the truth. My weapons teacher explained things last week, told me about you and your son. I thought of writing to you because I though it would not be fair otherwise – I should not exist. Your husband should not have slept with my mother._

 _So I am writing to get in your good books. I do not want to be a burden, and I will gladly stay out of my father's life if you do not want me there. But I would not blame you if you did not want me writing to you, Your Majesty, so I will stop there. Again, I give apologies._

 _Yours Faithfully, Harry Potter._

Salacia didn't know what to think. Amphitrite didn't know what to think. The two personas were completely out of their depth. Neptune's son, Poseidon's son- they wrote in Latin, trying to be polite, despite their obvious lack of instruction, wanting to be…non-intrusive, to her life. He basically declared that he'd never met his father, or been claimed, though somehow knew anyway that he was a son of the Sea God. He wanted…she didn't know what he wanted.

But in the back of her mind, something occurred to her, other than the fact that her husband had made another infraction, other than that she now held more of her very, very righteous anger. Poseidon's sons, with the exception of Triton and most of the adult cyclops', were usually rather naïve, idiotically stupid even. This boy…Harry, Henry, was placing trust in her, which was a dangerous thing to do. _He should have researched me better_ , Salacia thought. _Or he would realise that I hate my husband's bastards._

But Amphitrite was nothing if not clever. She would write back to this demigod, gain his trust – and then, when the time was right, she would use him, use him even as he looked up at her in awe.

And then she would slit his throat.

* * *

"You got a _reply?!_ " Rick stared in shock-horror before coming forward, throwing down his sword, holding Harry's shoulder's tightly. "Harry, promise me- _promise me_ , that you will be careful. Her Majesty is vindictive – she _hates_ her husband's bastard children. She will _kill_ you, Harry."

Harry immediately adopted a hurt look, "But Rick-"

"No Harry, you have to promise me." Harry knew from Rick's face that he wasn't getting out of this. "Harry-"

"I promise," he muttered, before lightly butting the man in the stomach with the butt of both his daggers. "Boop. Bop. Got you."

Rick sighed, "This is no time for jokes. The Queen of Atlantis is more dangerous than you seem to realise. Why would you even send her a letter?"

"Because," Harry tugged away from his arms, stepping back into a ready position, daggers in an ice-pick grip. "Come on. You said you would teach me how to disarm someone with a sword."

Rick pursed his lips. "Yes I did. But this is important-"

"I want people I can call family. Not just friends, or adults I'm close to – like a mum, and a dad, and a brother." He raised his arms. "Now come on."

Rick sighed, "Fine, but don't think you can make a family out of them, Harry. They're Gods." But he went over to his sword, picking it up and raising it. Harry glared, before stepping forward as he swung, raising the blades in his hands to stop it.

"Oh. I know. But you're forgetting one thing."

"And what's that?" Rick questioned, twirling the blades out of his hand. "You've got to hold strong, for that part, by the way. Don't let me do that."

Harry grumbled, dodging the silver, before snatching up his daggers from the ground. "Fine. But as I was saying, you're forgetting one thing-" he brought his daggers up, catching the sword again.

"-I'm Harry Potter."

And with a red flash of light, Rick's feet were pulled out from under him. Harry grinned down cheekily.

"And I'm a wizard."

* * *

Sirius didn't know what to think as Remus hugged him. What was happening? Remus didn't know he wasn't innocent – why was he hugging him?

"Moony?"

"God, Padfoot-" his friend choked, "When Harry told me I didn't believe him – I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. _That boy._

And to think he'd considered putting off his animagus training until next year.

* * *

 _Harry,_

 _So you are coming to New York this summer? That sounds fun, for you. We must meet some time – have dinner. You can bring your godfather, and your uncle. It would be lovely to meet them after all your stories. Really, it would. I'd especially love to see that transformation your godfather can make into a dog. I do hope he would let me see – would he know I'm a goddess?_

"Amphitrite…" Poseidon interrupted her as she finished her sentence, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Amphitrite asked as she continued her letter, knowing she'd have to rewrite it. Poseidon talking to her right now made her writing change – less happy and more muted anger and torment. Last time she'd written in this mood Harry had been, quite honestly, worried. It was surreal.

"You're writing a letter…in Olympus…out of water…"

"Well yes, that I am," Amphitrite replied, before completely turning to him – only to find him peering at the letter from the doorway, frowning.

"That's Latin." She could see the change overtaking him, and lightning fast folded the page in half.

"That's not any of your business," even if it were his son, Amphitrite didn't want him knowing. In the past four months they'd been communicating, she'd been having trouble completely faking her attitude to him. Harry had a way of bringing out the best in her, to her annoyance. "And if it was, I still wouldn't tell you."

Neptune growled, "But Latin? You aren't Salacia – have you really become that close with her? Has the name Salacia started meaning nothing to you?"

Amphitrite growled back, before transforming into said Roman deity, standing. "Just because we get on does not mean-"

"I don't care if you get on," Neptune interrupted, "I care that you are getting mixed up, Salacia. Latin is for us, Greek for them."

"Well you're a hypocrite then," she glared frostily, "Poseidon wears your lucky fishing hat all the time, and- ugh, I don't even want to talk to you right now."

Neptune rolled his eyes, "Is this about me and-"

"Yes!" She exploded. "I'm your wife! You can't just go sleeping around with every whore nymph _bitch_ who you think is pretty! There are enough cyclops' as there is, _you do not need to increase that number!_ "

"Well it's not as if you let me near _you!_ " Neptune replied, making Salacia stare. "Oh don't give me that look – we haven't shared a bed for over two thousand years, you can't blame me! I don't doubt that if divorce existed in our culture, we'd have been more than just separated."

Salacia was speechless for a moment. Divorce? "Neptune, I thought that _you_ …" she trailed off, not knowing what to think. Neptune thought she didn't want him? _Idiot, my stupid_ _ **idiot**_. Staring, meeting his eyes, she saw he realised the same thing.

"Salacia-"

Salacia went forward swiftly, kissing him, hands coming to wrap in his short black locks, slicked back and curled at the base of his neck. Neptune didn't hesitate to wrap his hands around her waist, holding her to him tightly as she felt tears on both their cheeks. When they parted, Amphitrite came back out, as did Poseidon. They held each other, swaying as they just… _held_ each other, limbs shaking with repressed strength.

"I'm so sorry," Amphitrite murmured after a while. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with me after all those people-"

"Don't, don't apologise. It was all my fault. I slept with those women – I betrayed you, our marriage. I love you, you know that, right?" He breathed the words out, looking at her vulnerably. "Amph?"

Amphitrite nodded quickly, pecking him on the lips, "I love you too. Now, please, can we just go to our bed in Atlantis?" Poseidon grinned, and Amphitrite kissed him again as they disappeared in a screen of salt mist.

The folded, unfinished letter to Harry laid forgotten on the desk.

* * *

 _Snap_. Harry lowered the camera from his eye, taking the polaroid as it printed, holding it still as it developed quickly. His lip quirked as the Empire State Building appeared.

"Got a good pic, pup?" Sirius asked from behind him. Harry nodded, showing him. "Great! We'll put it in the scrapbook when we get back to the Four Seasons." Harry had been collecting pictures recently, annotating the backs when he thought or found something interesting about them, due to his lack of notebooks. Sirius had raided his belongings, to his displeasure, and removed each and every one. It made him nervous.

Remus, who was sitting on a nearby bench, gave a relieved noise. "So we're going back?" But Sirius shook his head.

"Nope! Still got to go get dinner! I call dibs on choosing!" Remus sighed, prompting a bemused smile from Harry. You would think Remus would be the one dragging them around New York, but in truth it was Sirius – he'd never travelled before, and Remus had been a nomad for twelve years. He disliked walking around with nothing to do, preferring to holing up in a library, or his home, which he'd made in number twelve Grimmauld place.

Harry himself was happy to relax, to enjoy his trip to New York, though so far he'd been mediator between his two uncles, wondering in the back of his mind if he could sneak out and explore on his own – but when he'd asked Sirius, the man had immediately gone into Parent Mode. New York was dangerous, he was told, New York is _not_ like London. He might know little parts of London like the back of his hand, and could therefore look after himself, but New York had an entirely different modus operandi. He could get killed, kidnapped, anything – and he wouldn't be allowed to use magic to help. None of them could use magic in America – it was against the law, so they travelled and worked entirely by muggle means.

Sirius indeed led them to get dinner, and they all pigged out at a Chinese buffet that the next morning, Harry worked off in double the time he usually did. They went to Central Park that afternoon, and at five, Remus headed off so he didn't turn into a raging werewolf when the sun set. Sirius, looking after Harry, decided to have a short nap so he wouldn't eat the remains of their picnic basket, leaving Harry to his own devices.

…which was when, of course, Harry heard someone come out from the bushes behind them.

He tensed, ready for a fight, before swivelling around with a handy branch in hand. The sight that greeted him caused him to pause. It was a kid – a little scruffy kid with clear tear-tracks on their dirty face, though they were certainly not crying right now. They were crouched, one hand reaching for the picnic basket, the other holding a dirty kitchen knife.

"You hungry, kiddo?" The wizard whispered, not knowing what else to say. He dropped the branch, using one hand to open the picnic basket, taking out a sandwich and handing it to the child. They dropped the kitchen knife, practically snatching the sandwich out of his hand as he raced to devour it. "Slow down there, you'll be sick otherwise." The child looked up at him with suspiciously shiny eyes before looking down, slowing to a near-halt, taking careful bites, making sure to chew what Harry noted to be ten times. "Where are you from?"

"Manhattan," they muttered as Harry started to get settled carefully on the blanket, watching them closely. "You've got a funny voice."

"I'm from the UK. Here with my uncles on holiday – what about you?"

The child sniffed, before their face cracked, mouth clamping down around the sandwich as they struggled not to cry. Harry immediately came forward, only for the child to pick up the kitchen knife again, putting it to his throat, eyes gleaming in satisfaction as they munched on the sandwich.

"Knew copying that snivelling orphan whiner would work," she – and they were a she – smirked, before finishing the sandwich and standing, the knife still against his throat. "Now don't go calling the cops – they don't need to know nothing."

"I-I-I won't," Harry mumbled, terrified as he stared at the knife handle, the only thing visible. The kid looked triumphant, grabbing the picnic basket with one hand and stepping back, knife still out. "Just go, please." The kid turned, running off with their food, and Harry's shoulders slumped staring off after them. He just had a knife to his throat. He could have _died_. Without his permission, his breath caught in his throat, hitching as his eyes stung, facial muscles pulling as he brought his hands to his face. But he reigned it in, squeezing his eyes shut and calming himself down.

* * *

Later, he was a bit subdued, but no-one was in the hotel room to witness it – Sirius had gone to join Remus, locking him in. But the hotel room, no matter how expensive and luxurious, was stifling, and Harry just wanted some fresh air. He knew he had to stay inside though – Sirius had made that very clear.

Unwillingly, his eyes were drawn to the windows – there was a balcony, one that Sirius had locked. Surely though, his godfather wouldn't begrudge him anything if he opened it and stepped out for a couple of minutes…

Standing, Harry went over, using the spare key on the armoire beside the doors to open them, going out onto the balcony. It was a little chilly, but it didn't bother Harry – he'd dealt with harsher weather during his time in the custody of the Dursley's. Leaning over the wall, he looked down at the street below, not realising that his glasses were slipping until they completely fell off his head.

"Dammit!" He tried to catch them, but failed, watching as they fell dozens of stories, until they hit the ground. They didn't shatter – something that didn't confuse him, for some reason – and immediately Harry felt a draw to get them back. _I need them,_ he thought blearily as he turned back around, going back inside and tugging some shoes on methodically, grabbing his coat. Then he went to the door, wondering why he cared so much about his glasses – _I need them to see_ – when he didn't even have sight problems – **_I need them_** – opening it and stepping out, walking towards the stairs. After first arriving and using the elevator together, breaking it, Harry, Sirius and Remus had vowed only to use stairs, unless it was absolutely necessary – and even then, one at a time.

He eventually made it down, heading to pick up his glasses from where they laid on the pavement, outside the doors – when he saw a kid pick them up, scrunching their nose up and trying them on, immediately making them – to Harry's view – become magically _weird_ , energy revolving around them in a way that Harry could physically _feel_ , all the way from inside. He didn't slow down though, still propelled by the mystery need to get his glasses back, ignoring the enchantment trying to take hold of him, sneaking up his limbs like a fog.

"Hey," he called out as he exited, the kid looking up, "those are mine." He came down the steps, but slowed upon realising that the kid wasn't exactly…well-kempt. In fact, they looked just like the kid from the park, but their eyes were definitely red, and definitely bloodshot. They looked distraught, even, and Harry didn't know what to do. For all he knew, this kid was just like the one at the park – just as willing to hold a knife to his throat as the other had. _This boy_ , he corrected himself, a second later.

"Why were they on the ground?" The boy asked after a moment, before his eyes widened suddenly. "I can read." His head span around, eyes tracking signs, and billboards. "I can read!" He span back around, a grin on his face. "I couldn't read before! Everything was squiggly-"

Which was when Harry was reminded why he _actually_ wore his glasses, as all the English he could see suddenly became unreadable. He swallowed, before pushing down his fear, stepping forwards and taking the glasses off of his, putting them back on. The boy's smile immediately disappeared, eyes enlarging like a puppy's.

"I dropped them out a window," Harry replied, not looking away from him, trying and failing to force his guilt in a different direction. "Where're your parents?"

The question caused the boy's lip to quiver. "My- my mom's gone. Smelly Gabe put-" he started breathing erratically, Harry automatically putting a hand on his shoulder, holding him up as he tried to speak.

"Hey, calm down, you'll be fine, shh – what did Smelly Gabe do?"

The boy still breathed fast, but was able to answer. And Harry wished he hadn't asked, as he heard a fast-paced, explicit description of how Smelly Gabe had smashed a bottle over a woman's head so hard she fell backwards and broke her neck on a poker table, before Smelly Gabe panicked and put her in Percy's room, stuffing her under the bed – Percy was the boy in front of him, who'd then ran away as Smelly Gabe tried to throw bottles at him and kill him too.

It made Harry feel sick, and he knew he had to do something. But before he did, he had to clean Percy up somehow, so the hotel staff would let him inside – then he could call the police and explain what Percy had told him, and hopefully help him. Sirius wouldn't know what to do, so he couldn't wait, and Remus wouldn't be leaving wherever he was due to the moon cycle being nearly a week long. Harry had to do something, _anything_ , to help this poor kid.

Looking around, he saw an alley beside the hotel, nodding to himself before picking Percy up, to the kid's surprise, but not displeasure. It wasn't as if he was heavy, either. _He actually fits pretty well, too_ , Harry noted to himself as he entered the alley, taking his wand from his pocket – he knew it was illegal, but whatever, as long as he didn't get caught. It wasn't as if the Ministry could owl him anyway, not while he was in _New York._

"Okay, this is going to be a bit weird, but promise not to freak," Harry muttered to Percy, before setting him down and concentrating, muttering _aguamenti_ – a decent shower of warm water coming out of the end of his wand afterwards, soaking Percy. The boy immediately looked up, staring at his wand, not even bothered as water got in his eyes. But Harry frowned, watching as the water slipped off him like oil, just like-

Just like Harry.

Harry made sure not to break the spell though, as thoughts swarmed his mind. Water reacted differently to him than it did others, and this kid was reacting just the same way as he did. Did that mean – did that mean Percy was a demigod too? Harry's heartbeat climbed. _Is he my brother?_ It would be the most damnable of coincidences, but also the most likely – he was in New York, after all, and if Neptune, or Poseidon, watched over Percy due to their closer proximity, then Percy could have been led to him for a reason. Maybe they were meant to find each other.

As Harry thought these things, Percy himself was making the most of the warm water, taking off his blue Dory t-shirt and using it as a scrub, getting off the grime and grease from his face and arms, being pretty good about it. When he was done, Harry stopping the stream, he smiled widely, looking, to Harry, more energised than before. _Another sign_ , he thought as Percy thanked him.

"It's nothing," he replied, before using a _reparo_ on his shoes and torn khaki trousers. "I'm going to take you to my room in the hotel, and you're going to get a proper bath-" a small, ominous rumble sounded from Percy's stomach, causing the boy to grimace "…and food," Harry added, before taking his hand. "C'mon." Percy squeezed his hand, just before Harry felt a prickling on the back of his neck. Stiffening, his eyes scanned the alley, stopping upon seeing a rising figure further inwards, light glinting strangely, as if they only had one eye rather than two. Harry only spent one more moment questioning what it was before he grabbed Percy, hauling him onto his back, and dashing for the mouth of the alley.

No way was he endangering Percy by free-hand fighting a _cyclops_.

* * *

Remus was normally a very accommodating person, and Harry knew that. So while Sirius ranted and raved about keeping him, wanting Harry or Remus to phone the police, Remus sneakily enchanted his trunk, creating a small living space for Percy to inhabit while Sirius thought he was already away with Child Services. He didn't mind smuggling the little boy out of the country, especially when Harry cared so much about him, for a reason he didn't even know.

Of course, it wasn't a secret for very long, and Sirius was angry – angry enough to stay in a motel with a hot blonde on their last night in New York, though not because he begrudged Percy. In fact, after realising how far they were going for him, the man accepted it and even welcomed him to come home with them, because dammit, Harry was already attached and little Percy was already calling Remus _Papa Remus_ – but Sirius didn't like the lying. He hated the lying, and he had needed the time to go through it all.

So when they returned to Britain, little Perseus Jackson-Lupin was added to Harry's growing amount of people he called _family._


End file.
